The Riddle of Being: Wendy's Next Great Adventure
by Zigs1379
Summary: When a nearly-adult Wendy flies off with Peter Pan a few years after their first adventure, she becomes starkly aware as to why grown-ups do not belong in Neverland...Rated R for future chapters
1. RECOLLECTIONS OF A WENDY

This is my sophomore attempt at fanfiction, a story completely separate from my debut outing, A New Day: The Continuing Story of Peter Pan, which was a sequel to a sequel (to, technically, another sequel!).  
  
This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some natural references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Obviously, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them.....LORD, how I've tried! ;-)  
  
So, with no further babbling, I give you Chapter I of The Riddle of Being: Wendy's Next Great Adventure.....please leave comments! :-)  
  
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I. RECOLLECTIONS OF A WENDY  
  
The clouds hovered over London most impatiently, waiting for their turn to take their place of prominence among the skies after the proud Sun had at last given up his reigns upon the day. Not a breeze stirred, and even the moon seemed rather shy this evening. All the world seemed aware of the Boy's presence. That is, all the world that was part of the greater wonder and magical understanding.  
  
The universe watched as the youth sat upon that impatient cloud and waited, all the while juggling a shiny little object between his fingers. He had quite forgotten about the tiny gift, for how long he knew not nor cared to calculate. He happened upon it most accidentally whence recently returning to his abandoned underground tree home to collect old remnants and trinkets that the former batch of Lost Boys had left behind; the swatch of deerskin Nibs used to plan their battles, a rusty sword discarded by Tootles, Slightly's oft-used pocket mirror, and so on. And then there, nestled unobtrusively among the firs and blankets of the large bed hollow where the captain of the Lost Boys took his slumber, the small token presented itself once again, and he knew it in an instant.  
  
Wendy's Kiss.  
  
Had it been so very long since last Peter Pan's thoughts lingered upon the girl? I daresay it to be so. He had said he would return to her one day, to crouch upon her windowsill and listen to her wonderful adventure stories like he did so many times before. But upon returning to Neverland, he found himself to be rather distracted by other more pressing matters.  
  
He was now all alone. Just he and Tinker Bell. Of course, the green-eyed little fairy would have preferred it no other way, but as for Peter, it was a most distressing state of affairs. And to make it much the worse, within days he received word that the Jolly Roger once again housed a captain. No, the remaining pirates had not elected a new one, nor had they sought one out for initiation. 'Twas the same dastardly man come to command the ship once more. James Hook had returned.  
  
Peter's only allies remaining were the Indians, and he sought their aid in case Hook was to come after him. Having rescued their princess, Tiger Lily, the Indians were forever in Peter's debt, and they would gladly offer their protection should he need it.  
  
But he did not need it for very long, as the Ways of the World continued to spin on their never-ending axis, and within no time at all, careless nurses and negligent mothers everywhere turned their backs as their baby boys tumbled from their prams and into the waiting arms of Peter Pan to be taken to Neverland, where they shan't henceforth have to worry about depending on another for their own well-being. And within no time at all, Peter's band of Lost Boys was replenished anew, and he again had his own little army with which to battle Hook and the pirates.  
  
And with these new boys and the return of Hook came the vital task of finding a new hideout. The underground home would no longer do, as its whereabouts were known to just about every creature on the island. Peter had to seek out a new lair, one that would be completely unattainable to Hook. But where could Peter go that Hook could not?  
  
The answer was quite simple, really: The sky!  
  
Hook's days of flying were quite over, Peter was certain, so he had no qualms whatsoever about moving his home from the easily penetrable ground to the safety of the treetops. Not terribly far from the Indian camp – and far enough from the prying eyes of Hook and his cronies – was a dense thicket of trees and shrubs that hung like a blanket over the jungle below. With some careful patching and reinforcing, Peter and the Boys were able to carve out a most suitable and inconspicuous little hideout for themselves, with the watchful eyes of the Indians so nearby.  
  
So, as you can see, with all this excitement occupying Peter's fickle attentions, he had nary a moment to contemplate the adventures he had shared with Wendy Darling and her brothers, not so very long ago. And with increasing time, he came to forget about his last band of Lost Boys he had fought alongside as well.  
  
That is, of course, until Peter returned to the underground home for a bit of clandestine "spring cleaning." He was decidedly hazy when it came to drudging up old bits of memories about his former mates, but he batted nary an eyelash when he rediscovered Wendy's precious token of friendship. It all flooded back into the forefront of his mind like a great tidal wave.  
  
And now he sat and pondered the little object, instinctively pressing his lips together as he recalled the sweet taste of Wendy's thimble, which had saved him from almost certain destruction that one bizarre night way back when. Naturally, Peter was far too pig-headed and conceited to give Wendy the full credit for Hook's defeat that day. After all, he had been to one to lure the pirate to the crocodile's waiting jaws. Wendy may have been clever, but Peter Pan was the cleverest of them all.  
  
Peter was far too impulsive to complete his task at hand in the old underground home. As was often to occur, his mind could only weigh upon so many things at once, and after rediscovering Wendy's Kiss, this became all he could think about. He had said he would come back for her, and come back he shall. That very evening.  
  
And Peter was far too thoughtless to realize that a few years had elapsed since he last saw Wendy. He fully expected that she would be exactly the same as he had left her, as if only a day had passed between their parting – gazing out of her nursery window, his own Kiss dangling gaily about her neck.  
  
She would be waiting for him, he was sure of it. He needed only to stay hidden behind the smoky London clouds until the Sun disappeared and he saw the nightlights in the Darling nursery flicker to life. When all of Britannia finally lay fast asleep, he would slip into Wendy's most fantastic dreams once more, and another great adventure they were sure to share. 


	2. KEEPING HIS WORD

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...though I do think I could offer a competitive bid for Jason Isaacs. (heheh)  
  
Here's Chapter II .....please leave comments! :-)  
  
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II. KEEPING HIS WORD  
  
With ever fiber of her tiny being, Tinker Bell had begged Peter not to return for Wendy. Such a little tantrum she threw, stomping her little feet and shaking her little fists, but it only brought Peter to laughs rather than acquiescence.  
  
"Tink, you know I must go!" he had said between chuckles. "I told her I would return, and I shall be a gentleman and keep my word."  
  
"You silly ass!" she spat at him before storming off into her boudoir.  
  
Peter, having grown quite used to the fairy's outbursts, stood his ground with arms folded.  
  
"Now, now, Tink, must you start acting so foolish again?"  
  
A tiny ruckus could be heard within her little room before she poked her head out. "Must you MAKE me to act so foolish again?"  
  
"What does THAT mean?"  
  
The boudoir was quiet for a moment. And then a sad little jingle:  
  
"Do you really fancy her so much more than I?"  
  
It was only then that Peter felt compelled to approach her room. He peered into the tiny opening to see Tinker Bell sitting with her back to him, her head hung low between her little shoulders.  
  
"Aw, come on, Tink. You know you're my fairy."  
  
She only tossed him a pitiful look, her lower lip protruding in a most melodramatic fashion.  
  
"It's just that..." Peter went on, not quite knowing the correct words to choose, "well, you are so much smaller than I and..."  
  
No, this particular path was the wrong one to have taken, he realized quickly.  
  
"Look, Tink!" he stated firmly. "You're my fairy and you always will be, and nothing shall ever change that, all right then?!"  
  
Tinker Bell half-turned, a challenge creeping across her golden features. "Not even your precious Wendy?"  
  
Peter's lips tightened and eyes narrowed. Did this impertinent little pixie mean to make him CHOOSE between her and Wendy?  
  
"Wendy is not a fairy!" was all Peter could think to respond. "And besides, it is YOU who lives with me always, not her!"  
  
Tinker Bell's countenance softened considerably at this notion. 'Twas quite true! But she was quick to return to her sulky state, raising her eyebrows in a manner rather like a lost puppy.  
  
"And is this arrangement quite to your liking, Peter?"  
  
The boy gave her a rhetorical look, though he couldn't help grinning. "Of course! Why, I don't know what I'd do without you!"  
  
He rested his chin coyly upon the entrance to her boudoir, appealing most shamelessly to her feminine sensibilities. Fairies or not, all girls were the same, and they all craved flattery.  
  
But Tinker Bell was a bit more wily and insistent. She lunged at his face, leaning her little arms against his nose and forcing him to go cross-eyed.  
  
"Prove it!" she demanded.  
  
Peter removed his face from her room and the fairy from off his nose, pinching her wings between his fingers. "'Prove it'? How should I do that?"  
  
Tinker Bell remained dangling from his grip for a few moments, her eyes darting here and there as if the answer might be written on a nearby wall or soup bowl. Then her eyes met again with Peter's, and with a sheepish grin, she shrugged her little shoulders.  
  
Peter smirked and released her from his hold. "Stop fooling around now, Tink. We have to go to London right away!"  
  
And go they did, though Tinker Bell made her point silent but clear by taking her sweet time in following Peter. Occasionally, she would stop suddenly and point out something of interest to him, hoping he would become enthralled and forget all about this silly journey and that silly girl. But he was much too wise to her, and hence is how she came to be sitting so grouchily upon his shoulder atop that cloud in London at the present.  
  
Day had officially given way to Night, yielding to its final yawn as it disappeared behind the horizon. The evening was quickly greeted with many a streetlamp and gaslight being lit on sidewalks and within homes. Peter kept his eyes firmly affixed to the lights in the Darling nursery, for once the bright yellow ones were replaced by the softer, more orange glows, he knew that the grown-ups would be out of the way and the children snug in their beds.  
  
Peter tapped his foot and drummed his fingers against the cloud, growing more anxious with every passing second. Tinker Bell had fallen asleep long ago.  
  
Finally, after an agonizing eternity, Peter saw the shadow of a tall figure pass by the nursery window, a lit match in hand. And one by one, the nightlights sparkled to life. Now Peter made his move, stealthily bounding from cloud to cloud, using them as both stairs and shields, inching ever nearer to the closed window.  
  
That was quite a jarring sight in itself – the window closed? Surely, Wendy would keep it open for Peter. Wouldn't she? Perhaps she had simply forgotten. Or possibly she was waiting until she knew her parents had retired before opening it. Yes, surely, that must have been the reason.  
  
Peter made one final and spirited leap from off a low-hanging cloud, into a tree, and atop the windowsill, all in one swift movement. Tinker Bell lazily kept hold of the vines strapped across his shoulder, as she had no real intention of flying under her own power for this portion of the journey.  
  
The brightly colored panes of glass on the window were tricky, and Peter had to strain his eyes to make out anything specific within the room. Hopefully, Wendy would be along shortly to relieve him of his efforts.  
  
But alas, she did not come. In truth, Peter had not really been at the window for very long, but his impatience had as little grasp upon time as any other creature of Neverland. To him, he had very well been staring in through that window for days!  
  
Suddenly, a small wave of fear washed over Peter. What if, oh, WHAT IF those horrible things that the Captain had predicted were true? That when Peter returned for Wendy, the window would be shut because she had forgotten all about him? Such thoughts made Peter's feet sink heavily toward the ground. And his anxiousness grew critical.  
  
Peter brought up a finger and poked the indolent pixie resting on his shoulder. She responded with the fairy equivalent of a grumble.  
  
"Wake up, Tink!" Peter whispered harshly. "The window's shut. We are going to have to get in the old way."  
  
She yawned. "I guess she must have forgotten about you. May we leave now?"  
  
Now, Peter flicked Tinker Bell on her little fairy backside, flinging her into the air. She shot him the most hideous scowl she could muster, but his own stern furrowed brow overruled all. He pointed toward the window.  
  
With a huff, Tinker Bell turned her back to him and floated up toward the latch on the window, as if doing so quite under her own predilection and no one else's. She hovered close to the frame where the latch held the window tightly in its place from inside the room, and she glided her hands up her arms as if scrunching the sleeves of a shirt she was not wearing. Her light grew more intense, and with a great heave-ho, she sent a mighty ball of fairy essence hurtling through every last particle of the window frame until it penetrated straight through toward the metal latch. She then threw her arms violently to the side, her magic wave of dust acting as a shimmering lasso as it pulled the latch inside from one end to the other, successfully unlocking the window.  
  
Peter quickly brushed Tinker Bell aside once her task had been fulfilled, and the small muscles in his arms bulged as he pried the window open with every ounce in him until at last it gave way, and the chilly night air billowed inside the nursery.  
  
Thankfully, the racket Peter had made at the window did not seem to have disturbed the occupants within. Even with the nightlights, Peter had difficulty making out the little figures in their beds. But he knew exactly which bed was Wendy's, and he rose into the air and blithely floated over to it.  
  
He couldn't help grinning as he watched the figure breathing beneath the covers. She must have been fast asleep indeed, for the quilts covered her head and only the smallest patch of soft auburn hair poked out at him from below. Peter could not resist the temptation to play a little game with her, and he poked at her about where he figured her ribs would be and then quickly crouched down by the side of the bed, waiting for her to spring up so that he may surprise her.  
  
But alas, no reaction came. Nothing but a minor stir beneath the sheets occurred. So, Peter tried again, this time with a bit more force. And a small yet indignant little groan emanated from the quilts, but still no response as Peter was expecting.  
  
Peter straightened up, hands on his hips and brow furrowed, and regarded the lump in the bed before him. Soon his lips curled into one of his most delicious and mischievous grins, and he rose into the air and hovered over Wendy only but a couple inches from whence she lay.  
  
"Wendy..." he whispered softly toward her covered head.  
  
Again, no reply. Not even a breath missed. Peter brought his hands up and ever so carefully pinched the hem of the quilt between his fingers. And then, with one forceful tug, he tore the quilt away from the body it concealed.  
  
And suddenly there he was, face to face, with another little boy staring wide-eyed up at him!  
  
Peter gasped and flew back into the air, hitting his head on the ceiling. The boy in Wendy's bed gasped as well and sat straight upright.  
  
"Peter!" he exclaimed in a harsh whisper so as not to wake the others in the nursery. "You're back!"  
  
Quite perturbed indeed, Peter allowed himself to float down toward the ground just a tiny bit, so as to look at this boy who knew his name more readily.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked warily.  
  
"Don't you remember?" the boy said anxiously. "'Tis I, Nibs! I planned all our battles in Neverland!"  
  
The name was familiar to Peter, but the face was not. No, it was too clean and well-groomed a face to belong to the combat-hungry ruffian whom Peter once fought alongside not so very long ago. And there was also something very unfamiliar and unsettling about the boy's voice. Something rather...mature.  
  
As Peter continued to search his depleted memory banks for recollections of this young man, Tinker Bell zipped by and greeted him most heartily, as if never having forgotten him at all as Peter had.  
  
"Oh, hello, Tink!" Nibs greeted quite graciously. "How have you been?"  
  
Tinker Bell was just starting to regale Nibs with all the latest news from Neverland when Peter suddenly lunged forward.  
  
"Wait a minute!" he blurted. "Why are you in Wendy's bed?"  
  
"Oh..." Nibs seemed a tad off guard. "Well, Peter, this is my bed now."  
  
"Then where is Wendy?" Peter asked impatiently, his eyes searching about the nursery.  
  
"She has her own room," Nibs replied.  
  
Peter seemed intrigued. "Her very own nursery?"  
  
Nibs could not help but to chuckle at this. "No, no, Peter, her own bedroom. For, you see, she is..."  
  
Suddenly, he stopped himself, for he knew to continue as he had been going would surely send his former captain into quite a fit.  
  
"Uh...that is to say," he recovered, "It just got rather crowded in here is all."  
  
Without wanting to waste another moment, Peter sprinted toward the nursery door. "Take me to her!"  
  
As if out of a shaken habit, Nibs immediately climbed out of his bed and stood at attention before Peter. But it was not terribly long before he remembered himself...and he remembered Wendy.  
  
"Are...are you quite sure about that?" His voice wavered a tad.  
  
"Of course!" Peter seemed almost insulted to be questioned. "Take me to see her at once!"  
  
Nibs knew too well that to try and argue with Peter was like trying to teach a fish to play cricket. So, he sighed and nodded.  
  
"Alright," he said as he approached the door where Peter was standing. "But if we go, you must be very quiet so we don't wake Mother and Father."  
  
Suddenly, Peter stiffened very rigidly, a look of both shock and disgust twisting his fine features rather grotesquely. Nibs instantly recognized what had disturbed him so.  
  
"Erm, I mean, those rotten old grown-ups sleeping across the hall." He pinched his nose and stuck out his tongue to put a finer point on the charade, and Peter was only too happy to buy it.  
  
Creeping softly, the two boys and the fairy tip-toed out into the hallway, past another door, and in front of one more.  
  
"Is this it?" Peter whispered.  
  
Nibs nodded, and Peter's hand instantly shot toward the doorknob, but Nibs was quick to block it.  
  
"No, Peter, we must knock first. She may not be decent."  
  
Peter looked positively scandalized. "My Wendy is every inch decent!"  
  
Nibs sighed softly. How quickly he came to find Peter so tragically ignorant when he had been so himself quite recently.  
  
"No, that's not what I mean." He paused a moment, then his eyes shifted toward the fairy sitting idly on Peter's shoulder. "Remember that one time, Peter, when you came home with the pearl you took from the Mermaid's Lagoon? And you were so excited to show Tink that you flung open the door to her boudoir while she was grooming?"  
  
Peter tilted his head slightly and looked towards Tinker Bell, whose light had turned from gold to a decidedly blushed pink at this recollection. Yes, he did remember! He had thrust his face within the opening of her room to find her within, sitting before her tiny mirror, not wearing her dress. Oh, the din she had raised up! Peter could not quite ever understand how or why his seeing Tinker Bell without her dress should make her that beside herself, but so viciously affronted she was that he quickly became quite convinced that looking at a lady without her dress on was a most hideous offense indeed. And Tinker Bell was just merely a fairy...imagine the uproar that would ensue should Peter find Wendy in such a delicate condition!  
  
With a sheepish grin, Peter nodded and allowed Nibs to rap on Wendy's door gently. There was no discernable response from within.  
  
"She must be asleep already," Nibs whispered, watching for Peter's reaction.  
  
"Then open the door and I shall wake her up," Peter insisted.  
  
Nibs was hesitant, but he could not imagine what harm at all would come of obliging Peter. And so, with an ever meticulous turn of the knob, Nibs let Wendy's door glide open. 


	3. SWEET DREAMS AND HARSH TRUTHS

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some natural references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them.  
  
Here be Chapter III .....more comments please! :-)  
  
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III. SWEET DREAMS AND HARSH TRUTHS  
  
Wendy Darling never forgot.  
  
So long as there were peaceful nights and a pillow on which she could rest her head, the memories of her wonderful voyage to Neverland were never far from her reveries. And neither, too, was that remarkable young boy.  
  
Few things had changed, really, as far as Wendy was concerned. Oh, indeed, she had blossomed considerably in the past few years, and her every move was carefully watched and scrutinized by her mentor, Aunt Millicent. Try as the adults in her life might to wash Wendy clean of all the childish inclinations from her heart, they had no claim whatever on what she saw and experienced in her dreams. For, in Neverland, one is free to be whomever or whatever they wish, if only for a night.  
  
And Wendy's dreams had turned to the magical island even more intensely as of late. She was nearly eighteen now, and her parents had begun working most vigorously to choose a proper husband for their daughter.  
  
*Husband*. Just the word itself made Wendy's stomach groan. How could she even think about being married and dutifully bound to some man for the remainder of her life when she still felt she had so much more youth in her to expend? And yet, this was precisely for what she was being groomed. Many evenings, she wished she could just stop time altogether; that she could bid her body stop growing every which way, so that she might be able luxuriate in her childhood for just a little while longer. At twelve, whence returning from her adventures in Neverland, she had thought she was ready to grow up. But now that this threshold lay before her, in plain view, she questioned whether she truly was prepared to cross it.  
  
Hence, she turned inevitably to Neverland, and to Peter Pan, to draw her thoughts and worries from the drudgery of her everyday mortal life. And it is here that we may be able to discern the one clue of Wendy's impending womanhood – and that is, in her recent attitude toward Peter himself.  
  
To be sure, she was every bit as in love with him as the very first time she caught him hovering over her bed in the middle of the night. And her affection had not waned in the least in the years since she last saw him dart off from her window and into the starry sky. But she was older now, thus a more practical and maternal adoration for the boy had begun to usurp her former feelings of girlish "puppy-love." No more did she long for him to take her in his arms for a moonlit dance among the fairies, gazing into her eyes in such a manner that assured her all was perfect with the world. Now she would rather take him in her arms, and hold him tightly whilst he slept to protect him from the troublesome dreams that agitated his slumber. It was this transition in her heart that made her ever glad she had given to him her Hidden Kiss when the opportunity presented itself years before. When they were both still so young and innocent.  
  
Peter had said he would come back. He had not specified when, and Wendy could hardly expect that of him. But she could see in his eyes that he meant it. He would return to hear all the wonderful tales she would tell her brothers, old and new, about the incomparable Peter Pan. And so Wendy continued to preserve his precious legend in story, spinning countless yarns of the boy and his adventures to John, Michael, Nibs, Curly, Tootles, and the Twins (and sometimes Slightly, who would occasionally spend the night at their house if his mother, Aunt Millicent, approved). And always would Wendy leave the nursery window wide open, lest Peter was just around the corner, his ear pressed up against the wall to listen.  
  
Even when Wendy moved into her own room, she still told her stories to the boys before bedtime. And once finished, she would stand on the balcony and blow a kiss to the stars, for surely Peter was somewhere among them, and then close the window for the night. Then she would retire to her bedroom where the adventures would resume in her dreams.  
  
She tingled with delight in her bed as she imagined what Neverland must be like now, considering all the evil had been eradicated. With Captain Hook dead, the island surely ought to be a supreme paradise where only Good resides. Though, in her stories and in her dreams, Peter still fought the dashing yet wicked pirate, never once losing a battle.  
  
And Wendy would smile in her sleep at Peter's triumphant crowing after again defeating the fiendish man who had tried to kill them both. It was quite one thing for the Captain to have made so many dastardly attempts on her lovely Peter's life. But doubly infuriating was how Hook had been so kind to her, only to reveal his true evil intentions in the short run. How cruel to toy with her delicate emotions in such a manner. Never in her life had Wendy relished in someone's death before or since watching Captain Hook plummet into the crocodile's watching jaws.  
  
But all of that was of no matter to her anymore. The water had passed beneath that bridge, and she chose to focus on her Happy Thoughts, aimed squarely at that brave and gallant lad who featured prominently in her nightly reveries. Oh, her dreams seemed so very real too. She could feel the wind caress her cheeks as she flew through the air, the smell of the ocean and the trees as she passed overhead, and the warm touch of Peter's hand as he guided her toward another delicious adventure.  
  
At one point, quite suddenly too, Peter stopped and placed his hands upon her shoulders and began speaking to her, though she could not make out exactly what he was saying. His voice was clear as day in her ears, but the words were rather muddled. She thought he may be saying her name, softly and carefully, but as she strained to make it all out, his visage became as fuzzy as his words. But now she could perceive that he was indeed speaking her name, and yet he was slipping away from her. Oh please, don't go now! Wendy tried to hold onto him until at last everything went black before her eyes, and all that remained was the crystal clear chanting of her name in her ears. But it was no longer Peter's voice, though it did seem familiar. Then all at once, Wendy became aware that she was not dreaming, and there was someone standing at her bedside, trying to gently rouse her awake. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes, and they blearily set upon the face of her adopted brother, Nibs.  
  
"What is it?" Wendy asked, tired but anxious. Rare were the occasions that one of the boys should wake her in the middle of the night, and it was most often not to good news.  
  
But Nibs's excited smile put her mind at ease. "Wendy, guess who has come to see you?"  
  
Before Wendy had scarcely a chance to guess, Nibs moved aside, and in his place stepped a marvelous boy, his hands on his hips, clad only in leaves and vines and a clever grin. There was never any mistaking the countenance of Peter Pan.  
  
Wendy slept with no nightlight, so the room was rather dark, the lone source of any light being a streetlamp outside her window. She was also still quite recovering from her dream, and she was convinced that this must simply be part of it. It was probably just John or perhaps Slightly standing before her, and her own sleepiness was morphing him into the figure of Peter Pan. Yet, as her eyes continued to adjust, she slowly began to realize that it was all quite real. And when he leaned forward nearer to her so that she could take in the unmistakable scent of Neverland emanating from his bronzed skin, she could no longer doubt his authenticity.  
  
"Peter!" she exclaimed breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbow. "It really is you!"  
  
He smiled proudly. "Aye, 'tis me, Wendy. I came back, just as I said I would."  
  
"Why, how very sweet of you, Peter!" Wendy's eyes began to dart about the room. "Is Tinker Bell with you?"  
  
Peter glanced briefly behind him, toward where Tinker Bell was sitting atop Wendy's bureau sulking. "Yes, she is here, but she is in a rather grouchy mood this evening."  
  
They exchanged a knowing chuckle. Wendy's voice seemed a touch different than how he had remembered it – a bit lower in its timbre. Though she looked to be about the same, even if it was decidedly difficult to tell in the darkness of her room. But the charming sparkle in her eyes was undeniably Wendy, as was that special thimble that lurked about the corner of her mouth. He could see it longing to spring from her lips and onto his, and admittedly he would have very much liked it to do so.  
  
"I shall let the two of you get reacquainted," Nibs announced, backing toward the door. "Smashing to see you again, Peter!"  
  
Peter only shot his former friend a quick smile as he left, for his full attentions were squarely upon Wendy now. Once Nibs had gone, Peter knelt down beside Wendy's bed and stared up at her slyly. He felt a rather peculiar stirring within his belly as he looked at her. It had been quite some time since he experienced such a sensation, but unlike before when he had tried to squelch it, he readily welcomed it now.  
  
Wendy gazed back down at him, all words escaping her grasp. So many evenings had she longed for this moment, but now that it had materialized, she did not know quite what to say or do.  
  
"How have you been, Peter?" was what she settled on to say.  
  
The boy shrugged. "Quite well, I suppose. And you?"  
  
"Why, I have just been bored to tears!" Wendy laughed, and Peter beamed. "I have waited so very long to see you again."  
  
"Oh, it has not been so long, has it?" He should have just been teasing, but he was not. He really had not a clue as to how long it had been. Wendy understood this, so she just smiled. "I tried to get in through the nursery window tonight, but it was closed. I thought maybe you had forgotten about me."  
  
Wendy sat up in bed. "Oh, Peter, never! I'm sorry, I wish I could have let you know that I have my own room now, but I had no way to tell you!"  
  
Peter shrugged again. "It's no matter. I know now."  
  
Wendy hesitated a moment, feeling suddenly very coy. "Peter...have you come to take me away to Neverland again?"  
  
Peter straightened. He had not expected the question, nor had he given any thought to bringing her home again. In truth, he had not considered much of his intentions with her past slipping through her window.  
  
"Would you like me to?" he asked.  
  
"Peter, I would love nothing more!" Wendy's heart began to race, but she quickly caught herself. "Of course, I could not stay as long as last time."  
  
Peter figured as much. "Yes, I imagine so. But still, I suppose you could come just for a little while, and do some of our mending."  
  
"I would be delighted," Wendy said. "Just let me get my slippers, and we can be off..."  
  
She leaned over to turn on the lamp at her bedside. And no sooner had the light hit her face than did Peter's eyes suddenly grow horrified, and he jumped backwards violently.  
  
"Peter, what is it?" she asked worriedly.  
  
"Wendy," he gasped, "What has happened to you?"  
  
"Whatever do you mean?"  
  
"Your face, it..." He stared unbelievably at the features of her visage – the shape of her chin, the well-defined cheekbones, the thinner nose... His eyes wandered down below her neck, where the form-fitting nightdress she wore hugged her figure and displayed all the drastic changes that had occurred in her body. "All of you...you're so different..."  
  
Wendy quickly realized what was troubling him. It had been five long years since he saw her, and it had slipped her mind as to how alarming it might be to behold her as she was now. But had she really changed *that* much?  
  
"I am no so very different than from before, Peter," she tried to reassure him. "It's just that I am a bit...older now, and..."  
  
"Stop," Peter demanded firmly. "I don't want to hear that."  
  
Slowly, Wendy swung her legs around the side of her bed, preparing to stand. "Peter, it has been quite some time since we last saw each other, much longer than I think you realize."  
  
"You're grown-up now," Peter spat at her.  
  
"No!" Wendy was quick to reply. "I am not grown-up yet, Peter. I am older, but I am still just a girl, I promise."  
  
She stood then, and when she did, even from the distance that separated them, he could plainly see that she was much taller. In fact, she was taller than him! In the corner of the room, Tinker Bell's eyes widened in surprised delight.  
  
"I knew this would happen," Peter muttered.  
  
Now the height difference became evident to Wendy, and it startled her as well. "Peter, please...this may be my last chance ever."  
  
"Last chance for what?" Peter asked warily.  
  
"To go to Neverland."  
  
Peter shook his head sadly. "Alas, I cannot take you with me, Wendy."  
  
Tinker Bell concealed a happy squeal.  
  
"What?" Wendy's heart began to sink. "Why not?"  
  
Peter cast his eyes downward, not able to bear looking at her. "You are much too grown-up."  
  
Wendy fell to her knees before him. "Oh, but Peter, I'm not, truly! I may look it, but in my heart, I have not grown a day older!"  
  
"You say so," Peter snapped, backing further from her, "But always shall your heart be overruled by your practical grown-up thoughts. And such things do not belong in Neverland!"  
  
Wendy could feel her eyes welling up. How could she argue with him? When his mind was set, there was no talking him out of it. She would have to resort to drastic measures; find some way to meet him at his level, thereby proving she was still as heartless as he.  
  
She rose to her feet and hovered over Peter menacingly, and he placed a hand upon his knife. "If you do not take me with you, I shall never open the window for you again!"  
  
Peter's heart skipped a beat. How cruel of her to say! And yet, how utterly childish of her to place such a selfish ultimatum upon him. Perhaps she was not quite as grown-up as she looked. He narrowed his eyes at her as if a challenge.  
  
"Do you even remember how to fly?"  
  
Wendy grinned at this question. She had dreamed of nothing else since knowing him. And so very casually did she stroll over toward her bureau where Tinker Bell sat, quite rapt in all that was being played out before her. And she was rather taken by surprise when she suddenly felt Wendy's fingers wrap around her tiny body and her whole person being shaken violently over Wendy's head.  
  
A gush of fairy dust sprung from little Tinker Bell's body and onto Wendy, and when she was quite through with her, she replaced the dazed pixie back upon her bureau and cast her eyes on Peter, who was watching her intently.  
  
Wendy closed her eyes, and she pictured Neverland in her mind. All at once did she feel her toes leave the carpet and her entire spirit soar, her whole body tingling with Happy Thoughts and fairy dust. And despite himself, Peter could not help but smile. She did remember.  
  
Suddenly, Wendy felt her head bump up against the ceiling, causing her eyes to open whereupon they met Peter's, who laughed at this. She laughed as well, and he floated up into the air himself and surveyed this new yet same old Wendy. Yes, she looked older and therefore not nearly as beautiful as she had been before, but still something exciting and youthful lurked behind her eyes.  
  
"Very well," he said. "You may come. But only for a little while, and you must remain close to me the entire time and strive to stay out of trouble."  
  
"All right," Wendy agreed, her face completely lit up by her smile. She couldn't imagine what sort of trouble would befall them in Neverland these days, but anything was possible in a place where dreams manifest.  
  
Wendy lowered herself to the ground again so that she may open her bedroom window. 'Twas then that Tinker Bell let out a tiny huff of disapproval and flew up to tug Peter's clothing.  
  
"She's too old!" she whispered in his ear, but he paid it no mind and batted her away carelessly. "She'll ruin everything!"  
  
Peter only rolled his eyes. He expected her to say something melodramatic of the like, but he was quite confident that as long as Wendy stuck by his side, no harm should come to any of them. At least, that it was he sincerely hoped. He was not completely keen on this whole affair himself, but Wendy seemed so sincere in her wish to visit Neverland one last time. He would simply have to keep an extra watchful eye on her. At the first sign of trouble, he would have her back in her own bed in no time.  
  
The window open, Wendy stood out on the ledge, looking at Peter over her shoulder expectantly. She looked so lovely standing there, her eyes enticing him on. It had been far too long since Peter was gazed upon in such a manner. Despite her altered appearance, she was still His Wendy, and as long as she remembered him and remembered how to fly, he could scarcely deny her access to Neverland.  
  
With Tinker Bell near, he floated over to Wendy and out of the window into the London night, gauging the stars ahead of them. He was just about to take off when he heard Wendy speak his name softly behind him. He turned and saw her holding her hand out to him with a blushing smile. It had not crossed his mind to take her by the hand that evening, for he rather expected she was too grown-up to need his guidance. But the girlish twinkle in her eye softened his resolve, and he slipped his hand into hers and led her from the window and into the night. 


	4. THE OLD AND THE NEW

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some natural references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
*AUTHOR'S NOTE: In response to some of your reviews and emails, a few of you have expressed either a desire to know where this story is headed or already seemed to have made premature conclusions to such an extent after only 3 chapters. To be quite honest, if I were to divulge such info, I would be giving away the whole story, as it is rather complex, and I would prefer for you the readers to see it unfold as it happens. This story is not quite so cut-and-dry as "it's Wendy-Peter" or "it's Wendy-Someone else." However, what I can tell you is that if you are a person who simply cannot stand to ever ever ever ever ever EVER imagine Wendy with someone other than Peter Pan, or Peter thinking of Wendy as anything else but the absolute sun, moon, and stars, then you might be disappointed. Though I should hope you would stick around and see how it goes anyway. :-)  
  
And now, on to Chapter IV .....keep the comments coming!  
  
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IV. THE OLD AND THE NEW  
  
Imagine for a moment, if you can, that you were suddenly stricken blind at a very young age. Where you were once able to behold the most brilliant spectacles with not a second thought to the miracle of vision, now all you can see before you is a dull, black canvas. And there shall never again be anything else.  
  
But then, one day, a wizard – perhaps Merlin himself – appears at the foot of your bed and tells you he has a brand new set of eyes for you, and he will happily hand them over if you only say the word. However, there is a catch; for you can only wear these new eyes for one day only, to drink on all the lovely sights that you have missed. And after your time has expired, you must forfeit them back to the wizard so that he may offer them to another unfortunate soul, thus leaving you once again to the darkness for the remainder of your days.  
  
What would you, dear reader, say to an offer such as this? Would you take the eyes and spend one last glorious day to stare at the sun and flowers or gaze upon the precious faces of your loved ones? Or would you refuse the tempting proposal, for you would rather not be privy to all the wonderful things you have missed in your affliction and could not bear the heartache of having them stolen away from you once more?  
  
If you have chosen the former option, they you may be able to better understand precisely how Wendy Darling was feeling as she was being led away to Neverland with Peter Pan for a second time. The boy had offered her one last chance of experiencing all the wonderful adventure that she had only tasted but once before and was almost certain to never come close to again after.  
  
In all her girlish excitement at seeing Peter once more and being whisked off to Neverland, Wendy had, sadly, given little thought to how she may feel once she was back at her window, watching Peter and all the marvelous things he represented fly out of her life for most likely the very last time. Had she been just a little more grown-up, she probably would not have allowed herself to be resting upon that pink cloud at this very moment – she would have chosen to forfeit the magic eyes back to the wizard.  
  
But such as it was, she lay on her back under the inviting Neverland sun to catch her breath after a lengthy journey across the stars. She had not remembered the trip being so arduous and tiring, and she would simply attribute it to her sleepiness.  
  
Peter was not quite as sure about that. He had begun to grow fairly impatient with her, and nevermore was his irritation piqued as when she insisted they take a brief repose upon the clouds before continuing on to the island. 'Twas but another discouraging sign of her impending womanhood, he was convinced of it. And as he sat and watched her from another cloud, he tried to ignore the incessant buzzing about his head from Tinker Bell.  
  
"You know what could happen, don't you?" she kept repeating in a very taunting manner.  
  
"I shall not let it," he insisted. Then he cast a grave look upon his fairy. "And neither shall you."  
  
Tinker Bell crossed her little arms, her wings fluttering haughtily. "She'd be better off thrown to the mermaids."  
  
Peter felt the strongest urge just then to pluck Tinker Bell from out of midair and twist her tiny neck for saying such a thing. But he knew better how to win her approval.  
  
"Tink," he began gently, the slightest grin creeping upon his lips, "I may not be able to keep as constant a watch as I would like over Wendy during her visit here. So I am trusting in you to step in and look after her if I cannot, for you are ever so much more resourceful and crafty than I. Will you be so kind as to oblige me this favor?"  
  
Tinker Bell was far too small to resist the sweetness oozing from Peter as he spoke to her. She tried to avoid his charming grin, but alas, it was in vain.  
  
"Do you really think of me so, Peter?" she gushed.  
  
"Of course!" he insisted. "Why, there is not another creature in the world to whom I would extend such a lofty responsibility!"  
  
Tinker Bell's little light beamed brighter than ever. "Then I shall do all I can to prove my worth to you!"  
  
And with that, she tickled Peter's nose, and he giggled joyously. Never was there more delightful and loyal a companion to him than when his Tinker Bell was in high spirits.  
  
Unbeknownst to the giddy twosome, Wendy had been quietly observing them from her own cloud for the duration of their conversation. One would assume that she would take an envious offense to Peter's closeness with the fairy, just as Tinker Bell had toward he and the girl. Rather to the contrary, Wendy sought great comfort in knowing that Peter had such a devoted ally to keep him company during the more lonely days and nights he must certainly spend in Neverland. The feisty little sprite would do just about anything for Peter, and Wendy was glad there was such a someone – or something – in Peter's life to look after him when she herself could not. And so she gave a contented smile as she watched the two companions interact as if an old married couple.  
  
After a little while, Wendy deemed herself rested enough to resume their flight to the island. She drank in all the splendid sights as if for the very first time, and Peter once more delighted in showing off his beloved home to her. Everything was just as she had remembered and preserved in her dreams – the Mermaid's Lagoon, the Indian camp, the Black Castle...And most curiously, the Jolly Roger. The ominous pirate ship was still docked quietly a short distance from the Lagoon. Could this be the new residence for Peter Pan? Wendy could imagine it to be so, but it was to her surprise when Peter led her quite far from the ship toward the other side of the island, near Indian Territory, and came to land in a decidedly thick and dark portion of the jungle.  
  
"What a dreadful little spot," Wendy proclaimed, trying to make out her bleak surroundings by means of the sole light source available – Tinker Bell. "Peter, why have we stopped here?"  
  
Suddenly, Wendy realized that Peter seemed to have slipped away. She called out his name worriedly.  
  
"Over here, Wendy," she heard him reply from about five yards to her left.  
  
She followed the sound of his voice and Tinker Bell's glow until she caught up with him standing near a more huddled grouping of trees. He was tugging at a thick vine that seemed to be hanging from the summit of these trees above, and once Wendy was upon him, he took her hand and wrapped it firmly around the vine. He then told her to take a broad step forward, and when she did, she felt her foot slip into what felt like a large, sturdy basket attached to the vine. After she swung her other leg inside as well, Peter instructed her to pull hard upon the vine. She did so, and she found herself suddenly lurched a few inches upward.  
  
Peter smiled mischievously within the darkness. "Meet you up top!"  
  
And just like that, he shot straight upward and was gone. Out of mere reflex, Wendy called out after him, but it was for naught. And so, with a rather inconvenienced sigh, she continued to pull on the vine and hoist herself up the side of the trees. By the time she began seeing the merest inkling of daylight peer at her through the treetops above, she was quite convinced that her arms would simply fall off her body from all the pulling! How much higher did this blasted vine go?!  
  
At long last, Wendy breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Peter above, standing on the edge of what looked to be a rather austere treehouse. Once she was close enough, Peter helped her out of the basket and onto the rickety wooden platform of his hideout. With a quick scan of the forest beyond, lest any enemies be lurking nearby, Peter released a deerskin flap, adorned with an array of indigenous leaves, from the top of the entrance and let it fall over the opening, shielding the occupants within from prying eyes.  
  
Only when the hideout was properly concealed from the outside world did Tinker Bell then dare to light the small candles distributed sporadically throughout the home. As each one sprung to life, Wendy was able to absorb her surroundings a little at a time. The whole of the lair was no bigger than her bedroom in London, with only the barest of amenities to keep Peter and his mates provided for. The deerskin walls were reinforced with tree branches and lined all around the perimeter with small cots, 5 in all, made of the same (Peter's being the biggest and most garish, of course). A few minor shelves and tables had been crafted and affixed to the walls or set in corners, respectively. The center of the room was open space, and it was littered with animal skins and furs, crude maps, apple cores, and assorted weaponry. And Peter Pan stood proudly amongst all of it, most pleased with his humble little dwelling.  
  
"Why, Peter, it's..." Wendy tiptoed around her words, not wanting to hurt the boy's feelings. "...so...quaint."  
  
Peter had nary an inkling as to what that word meant, but he judged from Wendy's placating smile that it was a very fine appraisal indeed, and he smiled back broadly.  
  
"And what exactly is that up there?" Wendy asked, pointing to what looked like a bucket protruding from the roof.  
  
Peter explained that, since they had no fireplace, and Neverland became frightfully cold during the night (and when Peter was away), they had carved a skylight in the roof and attached a box to it, wherein it collected sunrays all day long, and once night fell, the box was removed and set in the center of the room where the rays could emit their pleasant warmth amongst the boys as they slept.  
  
"What a lovely idea!" Wendy exclaimed. It was indeed, Peter thought. "So, you have some new Lost Boys, Peter?"  
  
'Twas quite so, and Peter excitedly took a seat upon one of the fur rugs on the floor and began telling Wendy all about his most recent band of mates. Wendy as well took a seat next to him, most eager to hear everything.  
  
There were four of them at the moment, each varying just as much in age and temperament as the crop of boys who now lived with Wendy in London. The first to arrive had been a small Irish boy whom Peter dubbed Ram Eye, for this was all the boy would say whence first arriving in Neverland, and it was much to Peter's secret embarrassment when he realized that the boy had actually been saying "Where am I?" through his thick accent!  
  
Next came a rather shy boy, roughly the same age as Peter, although a tad bit on the portly side, as Tootles had been, and therefore posed no threat whatsoever to Peter's authority. His name was Dudley, but Peter preferred to call him "Doubly" in order to further remind him of his place. (To this, Wendy shook her head and told Peter he ought to be ashamed, but Peter only laughed and insisted that what Doubly lacked in physical appearance he made up for in a keen hunting prowess.)  
  
The third Lost Boy was the youngest – only perhaps five or six years old – and his never-ending stream of queries about nearly everything helped him to obtain the name "Little Know-Nothing" by the Indians, which the Boys shortened to simply Know-No. Peter found him quite impertinent and often prone to getting lost or straying from the group. But he was a hearty little fighter, and so Peter resisted the temptation to feed him to the mermaids for supper.  
  
The fourth and final boy to come to Neverland had the distinction of being the "brains" of the bunch. Named Specs for his frighteningly thick eyeglasses, he could both read and write, and do things with numbers that Peter could not have imagined. He had drawn up diagrams of Neverland of such astounding accuracy Peter had never seen, and these he showed to Wendy, who was equally impressed. She would have thought Peter to be jealous of this boy's skills, but in fact he was happy to have his abilities at his disposal and would rather Specs deal with all that inane intellectual rubbish than he!  
  
Peter gleamed as he spoke of his new mates, telling Wendy that he harbored a true fondness for these boys despite the proud and indifferent façade he feigned. And then, as if his merely speaking of the boys somehow called to their spirits and summoned them, Peter and Wendy were suddenly interrupted by a frightful din of activity and hollering all about the hideout.  
  
Peter leapt to his feet in such a manner that Wendy feared they were being attacked, and even more concerned did she become when Tinker Bell darted from her tiny house and began hastily snuffing out all the candles. Now the commotion was fully upon them and had overtaken the little treetop home, and Wendy was able to feel her way through the darkness and lean herself up against a wall and, hopefully, out of harm's way. Then she heard Peter call out:  
  
"Will you blockheads be quiet!"  
  
Almost immediately, the uproar died down. Several small voices whispered "Sorry, Peter" in response.  
  
"Close the flap, Ram Eye," Peter was heard to instruct, and only a few short moments thereafter, the candles became lit again, one by one. And Wendy, still against the wall and quite inconspicuous, got her first look at the new Lost Boys.  
  
"I told you boys not to be so bloody loud when entering the hideout!" Peter fumed, and Wendy blushed a little to hear him use such coarse language.  
  
"We're very sorry, Peter," one of the boys, presumably Doubly, said. "But we have the most marvelous news!"  
  
"Oh, yes, indeed!" another boy chimed in.  
  
"Just fantastic!" squealed another.  
  
And soon, the ruckus had been ignited anew, which Peter had to once again extinguish.  
  
"Alright! Alright! Tell me your news, only do it quietly!"  
  
A boy stepped forward, and Wendy decided it was Ram Eye. "Payter, we 'ave found the pirates treesure!" His accent gave him away soundly.  
  
"Yes!" Doubly interjected. "Their entire supply hold!"  
  
Peter's jaw fell agape. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Quite sure!" a boy with thick spectacles asserted. "Tucked away good and proper on the other side of Dead Man's Ditch."  
  
"Why, there is nothing on the other side of Dead Man's Ditch but a straight drop onto Blind Man's Bluff," Peter wrote off.  
  
"On the contrary," Specs said. "There is a hidden path along the incline of the ditch that leads to a hollow within the cliffside, facing the sea. Frankly, I don't know how we ever missed it before!"  
  
Normally, Peter would have found news such as this quite distressing – that these inferior boys, although his best mates, should come upon so great a find as this without his participation would be a nasty blow to Peter's fragile ego indeed. But such a spectacular discovery it was that all Peter could think about was getting to it straight away and raiding it out but good!  
  
"Show me at once!" Peter demanded greedily, his eyes growing large and mischievous.  
  
The Lost Boys were only too happy to oblige and readily made toward the entrance to leave. Up until this point, Wendy had remained silent and quite undetected in her little corner of the room, but whence she saw Peter about to drop everything and go off to his little treasure hunt, she was compelled to step out of the shadows.  
  
"But Peter, wait..." she entreated anxiously.  
  
All other occupants of the tree home suddenly came to a dead halt and shot their little heads in her direction, and then the Boys gasped.  
  
"What the divil is'at?" Ram Eye inquired, his eyes practically bulging from his head.  
  
"It's a mermaid what's grown legs!" Doubly exclaimed.  
  
"No, no, no," Peter shook his head. "That's just Wendy."  
  
'Just Wendy'? She could not help but feel slightly offended at so dismissive an introduction.  
  
"What's a 'Wendy'?" Little Know-No inquired.  
  
Specs adjusted his glasses. "Why, 'tis a lady." He frowned. "A *grown-up* lady!"  
  
And just like that, all eyes suddenly cast darkly upon Peter, including Wendy's.  
  
"Oh...well, uh...," Peter stammered. "She's not really THAT grown-up..."  
  
Wendy was pleased to finally hear him say so. But the Boys were not quite so easily convinced.  
  
"She's practically ANCIENT!" Doubly cried out, swiftly putting a damper on Wendy's brief satisfaction.  
  
All the Boys began talking at once again, mostly at Peter, who was finding himself being backed into a corner. Suddenly, he sprang into the air.  
  
"What is all this, a mutiny?!" he bellowed, and the Boys clamed up. "She is not an enemy. She has come only for a day to tell us stories and mend our garments."  
  
"Like a mother?" Specs asked, now a bit more at ease.  
  
"Right!" Peter was quick to assure him.  
  
"Aw, dash mothers!" Ram Eye exclaimed, his arms folded. "The 'ole reesen we came to Neverland in the farst plehce was to get awee from mothers!"  
  
Peter laughed nervously. "But, she is not *really* our mother. It would only be a game!"  
  
Know-No wrinkled his pug little nose. "Grown-ups can't play games."  
  
Wendy was fast becoming fed-up with all this nonsense about her age, and she would have tossed up quite a juvenile row had Peter not stepped in and, surprisingly, acted the cooler head.  
  
"Listen, we can talk about this later," he said. "Right now, we must get to the pirates hold before those scoundrels even know what's hit them!"  
  
How quickly a child's attention can be diverted when enticed with treasures and adventure, and the Boys gave up a hearty cheer at Peter's words. Their captain corralled the bunch toward the opening of their tree home when Wendy again stepped forward, fully expecting to be included on this most intriguing exploit.  
  
But alas, Peter turned to her promptly and held her at arms length.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked quickly.  
  
"What does it look like?" she replied. "I am following you!"  
  
"Oh, no, no, no," Peter shook his head earnestly. "This is no mission for a..."  
  
He abruptly cut himself off as Wendy's countenance became severe.  
  
"...for a *lady*!" he recovered. But this did little to dissuade Wendy.  
  
"Peter, I am quite capable..." she tried to reason, but he cut her off now.  
  
"No, you must stay here," he declared firmly. "Tink shall guard you lest any trouble comes about."  
  
Tinker Bell could be heard huffing within her boudoir.  
  
"I shall go with you, Peter!" Wendy insisted most vigorously.  
  
"You can't!" Peter contended, putting Wendy in quite a dubious position. "Look, just stay here and...and tidy up the place or something!"  
  
Were Wendy not such a lady, she surely would have belted Peter Pan right across his sassy little face. But she stayed her hand in favor of a grotesquely insulted expression, which Peter gave little notice to before hastily ushering his band of ruffians out of the hideout and into Intrigue's waiting arms.  
  
Wendy made a move toward the entrance, and fast did she become starkly aware that she had no other recourse than to stay put, at least for the moment, as she had no means of escaping the tree home now that all the baskets had been lowered to the ground way below. So, she retreated back inside and paced indignantly. How DARE Peter act so impertinent and refuse her inclusion on their expedition! Why, if he were just a little smaller – or she a little bigger – she would swiftly take the boy over her knee and thrash him but good!  
  
But, oh, what good should that do, besides convince Peter that she was nothing more than a stodgy old 'grown-up' as he and the rest of the Boys suspected. She must prove to them presently how capable she was of childish and frivolous things, just as spiritedly as they.  
  
Wendy tossed a narrow look at Tinker Bell, who was sitting still within the entrance to her boudoir. The fairy met Wendy's gaze thusly, watching the disappointed girl as she treaded the rickety floorboards in deep thought. The fairy did not want to be there any more than Wendy, but not quite for the same reasons. The silence between them grew tense, until Wendy at last broke it.  
  
"Well, Tinker Bell," she began confidently, "As much as I would love to stay in this little room and frolic gaily with you, I'm afraid I must follow Peter and the others."  
  
Tinker Bell zipped quickly from her place and in front of Wendy, waving her arms frantically, as her language could not be understood by the girl.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I am going," Wendy declared, "And there is not a thing you can do to stop me. I know you have your duty to Peter, and if you would like, you may come with me. But either way, I am not staying here!"  
  
The exasperated fairy threw up quite a noisy fit at this, and she pulled on her own hair to further exaggerate her frustration with this brazen girl. And yet, she was absolutely right – there was hardly a thing Tinker Bell could do to stop Wendy from leaving if she so wished it. And so she watched helpless as Wendy walked to the entrance and began hauling up one of the baskets from below.  
  
Wendy had come to Neverland for an adventure, and an adventure she would very well have! 


	5. GRIM CHOICES

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some natural references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
WARNING: This chapter may be upsetting to some people. Again I entreat of you to just stick with me here anyway... ;-)  
  
Once more, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them. But this story is mine, so mitts off!  
  
Here be Chapter V .....more comments please! :-)  
  
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V. GRIM CHOICES  
  
If all fairies decided to be so rudely unhelpful and uncooperative as Tinker Bell was to Wendy this day, surely they would all be sent guiltlessly tumbling to their deaths upon the utterance of six little words. And I daresay the temptation had presented itself to Wendy as well, even for all of her forgiving nature, but she held her tongue and reminded herself that Tinker Bell's obligation lay with Peter and not with her. Hence the pixie could not quite altogether be faulted for her obstinacy.  
  
The fairy dust had since worn off on Wendy (its effects do wane quicker as you become older), but Tinker Bell would have rather cut off her own wings than provide her with more. The forest was thick and dark as night even though daytime still burned luminously beyond the trees, but Tinker Bell would sooner drink more of Captain Hook's poison than allow Wendy to use her as a guiding light through the jungle. Hence Wendy was more or less on her own as she attempted to follow Peter and the Boys' trail; Tinker Bell lagged stubbornly behind if only to alert Wendy to some impending danger.  
  
Then, you may find yourself asking, just how was Wendy able to track the boys' progress through the woods? It is due thusly: Most careless and frivolous young boys – particularly those without mothers – have not the sense nor interest in picking up after themselves, especially whilst racing through a jungle toward an adventure with all the reckless abandon that parents devote their lives attempting to suppress. So, to this we can attribute Wendy's periodic stumbling upon broken bows, shed feathers, torn bits of clothing caught on bushes, and other such paraphernalia left behind by the juveniles as a virtual map of their whereabouts laid out before her. Even their very laughter lingered among the brush in their wake, conducting Wendy in the proper direction.  
  
Soon, daylight was sparkling through the treetops, and Wendy could see a vast clearing dead ahead. It was around this time that the boys seemed to become more mindful of the clues they were dropping behind, and Wendy was again left quite to her own devices. Peering through a thicket, she could see the deep basin of Dead Man's Ditch not far off, and the incline swooping up from it that overlooked the ocean beyond. Somewhere, there was a path that led to a cliffside hollow used for a supply hold by the pirates. Either Wendy uncovered this path, or she would have to scale the cliff and seek out Peter and the Boys from above...  
  
* * * *  
  
Specs sat cross-legged up against the cliff wall and adjusted his eyeglasses. He was always the designated look-out on excursions as these, for if an enemy were to spotted in the distance, he could figure within moments how far away they were and how fast they were approaching, and with this information he could decipher how much time the Boys had to finish what the were doing and make their escape, and other such complicated matters that made Peter's head ache just thinking of them. Specs kept his eyes targeted seaward, with only a few nervous glances toward the jagged rocks of Blind Man's Bluff some twenty yards straight below the narrow ridge on which he sat.  
  
Just to his right was where this path receded into a cave carved into the cliffside, masked from the world by strategically placed shrubbery and other such clever disguises. Inside, Peter Pan and the other three Lost Boys found their way around a series of small winding passages, dug out on a slight downward slope, which led ultimately to a great room where the pirates' booty lay hidden from the masses. They had come upon a few booby traps along the way, which had quite obviously been set for someone much larger and less agile than Peter and his mates, for they were able to easily evade their supposed outcomes. And so the Boys lay their grubby hands on the pirate treasure virtually unscathed, and began packing all they could into their clothes and satchels and whatever else could be used as carriers, with no consideration at all as to the looming predicament near to befall them.  
  
By the time Wendy's cheek collapsed upon the crest of the precipice, she scarce had any energy left in her to proceed with the actual *adventure* part of her journey! Her dress was soiled, her hands and feet blackened with dirt, and her spirit melancholy. Why, 'twas only a short time ago when she would have been able to conquer mountains twice the height of this willful old cliff whence she now lay completely drained of breath! She rather felt like crying, and Tinker Bell's incessant chatter was of no help.  
  
But on the other hand, the fairy's jeering did manage to strengthen Wendy's resolve a bit, if only out of sheer pride. She could not understand a word of Tinker Bell's language, but she need not in order to know how the fairy was mocking her. Oh, how she would promptly put a lid on that little devil's ranting!  
  
Slowly but surely, Wendy brought herself up to her elbows, then up to her knees, and finally into a seated position atop the cliff. Her location afforded her a spectacular view of the sea beyond the island in front of her, and very briefly did she consider just staying in that quaint spot to watch the Sun complete its journey across the sky. But alas, the only type of person who would fancy watching the Sun in lieu of having an adventure would be a *grown-up*, and Wendy was adamant that she was *not*, so she pried her attention away from the skies and toward the cliffside around and below her.  
  
Her eyes carefully scanned her surroundings. The cliff curved in a distinct S-shape, and where she was sitting, you could say, formed the first curve – sloping inward and then out again toward her right so that she could see the furthermost point of the cliff perpendicular to the Bluff reaching out before her. And it was within this slope, nestled in a tiny corner facing Wendy's sightline, that she caught a glimpse of sunlight reflected off an even tinier glassy surface. Quickly she was able to determine that this reflection was caused by a pair of eyeglasses, and that behind those eyeglasses there was a boy, sitting flush and somewhat camouflaged against the cliffside upon a frightfully narrow ridge jutting from it, whom she immediately recognized to be the crafty Lost Boy known as Specs.  
  
Wendy wanted to call out to him, to rouse his attention, but she thought better of it. Heaven only knew what could be lurking about, ready to pounce on her or the boys in the cliff below. She opted instead for a 'stage whisper' – huskily wheezing his name out into the air without any vocal timbre in the hopes that his notice would be piqued and drawn in her direction. But alas, she was too far away, and the wind carried her projection back down into the valley beneath her.  
  
How the devil was she to get his attention? Altogether ignoring Tinker Bell's haughty scoffing, Wendy looked about her immediate area and observed the light scattering of rocks and pebbles dislodged and laying about the summit of this cliff. Aha!  
  
Picking up a pebble no bigger than her nose, Wendy geared up and tossed it toward Specs. But the pebble was too small and light, and the wind promptly swept is aside. Wendy picked up a bigger pebble, this the size of her palm, and lobbed it aft. This time, it made contact with the cliffside, but not close or loud enough for Specs to notice. Finally, seizing up all her might and gumption, Wendy stood upon her knees and gripped her fingers about a rock bigger than her entire hand – and weighing twice as much – and with every ounce of strength left in her, sent it hurtling toward the doomed boy.  
  
Wendy watched in horror as the rock stuck true its target square in the face, and she could hear the echo not only of his yelp, but also in the shatter of metal and glass that the impact produced. She gasped and collapsed to her elbows, her hands clasped over her mouth. Even the chatterbox Tinker Bell was momentarily left speechless, and she exchanged a frightened look with Wendy.  
  
They could see the boy was not seriously injured, thank Heaven, but his trusty eyeglasses were but a memory. There was no floor for them to have tumbled onto, as the ridge he sat upon was far too narrow, and so they opted instead to go plummeting in a thousand pieces toward the Bluff below. And Wendy winced shamefully as she heard the echo of a thousand swear words – one for each shattered piece of eyeglass I imagine – stream from the otherwise rational boy's mouth. He frantically felt the area about him in his private darkness for any salvageable shred of those precious crutches.  
  
Wendy was rightly mortified, and she could only watch the boy grapple helplessly. She tried to think of something – ANYTHING – she could do to right the situation, but her deliberations were suddenly cut short when she felt an awful tug upon her hair from Tinker Bell.  
  
"Oh, what IS it, you uncouth little..." But she was not able to finish once the fairy thrust her head seaward.  
  
She could see – indeed, they *both* could see – in the misty distance, a small caravan of dinghies rowing menacingly toward the Bluff. Wendy knew instantly the depraved individuals who occupied the boats too, for they haunted even her most celebratory dreams...  
  
The pirates were coming!  
  
Wendy struggled to her feet, not knowing quite what else to do. She glanced down upon the hollow in the cliff where Specs was still stamping his feet and cursing to the wind. Oh, but he had to be warned! They all did! And so, throwing herself thoughtlessly into harm's way, Wendy stood at the very edge of the cliff and shouted out Peter's name as loud as the island and her lungs would allow.  
  
Almost immediately, Wendy felt her lips being clamped together by Tinker Bell, who was jingling, squeaking, and shaking her little head most incessantly. She made several grand gestures that Wendy took as meaning that the fairy would venture down into the cavern and warn Peter herself.  
  
But the Boys had already begun to file out of the pirate hold, arms full and still quite unaware of the approaching enemy. They stopped only briefly to inquire about Specs's strange difficulty. And when Peter himself emerged, Wendy forgot herself and Tinker Bell's proposal when she at once called out his name again. To further make a target of herself, she began jumping up and down and flailing her arms, sending Tinker Bell into quite a snit. But Wendy's strategy worked, as Peter's attention was quickly gained. He instantly recognized the flash of white prancing about on the clifftop.  
  
And sadly, so too did the armed buccaneers in the oncoming dinghies.  
  
Peter had nary a chance to scold the foolish young lady upon the precipice when a loud shot rang out. At once did the blast befall at Wendy's feet, setting her horribly off-balance and lurching forward from the cliff. With a shriek, she doubled over across the edge. And she most certainly would have struck the rocks below had she not the presence of mind to grab hold of a mass of tree roots peering from the cliffside but a foot or two below the crest. There she dangled perilously, and Peter called out her name.  
  
"Peter!" Wendy replied in kind. "Help! Help me, PLEASE!"  
  
But Peter only stood and watched her struggle, as if powerless to her situation. The other Boys had long since fled the hold, only Doubly lagging back for a moment to say:  
  
"Peter, come on! You can't help her! LET'S GO!"  
  
But still Peter remained on the ridge, unable to tear his eyes from his Wendy. She could see him standing there in the corner of her eye, and she called out to him more fervently than ever. Why was he just *standing* there, for goodness sake?! It was almost as if he really didn't *want* to help her!  
  
Even Tinker Bell seemed at a loss for what to do. The pirates were getting closer by the second, and Wendy would not be able to hold on much longer. What was one to do? So she waited for Peter's reaction.  
  
At last did he have one. In a single swift movement, Peter dropped his loot to the ground before him – some of it spilling over the ridge and onto the Bluff below – and flew rapidly in Wendy's direction. He darted up from beneath her and wrapped his arms around her midsection to try and hoist her up. He teeth gnashed together as he attempted to pry her up, but she would only budge a few inches. No, it was no use. 'Twas quite as he suspected. She was too heavy for him to carry now.  
  
Beads of sweat trickling from his temples, Peter jumped up onto the cliff's edge himself and hung over the side, his arms outstretched beneath him. He bade Wendy try and grab at least one of his hands, and with tremendous effort she was able to do so.  
  
The pirates were almost upon the Bluff now. They could hear them plainly. Peter could even smell them.  
  
Wendy tried to take Peter's other hand, but she was not confident whatsoever in the sturdiness of his hold upon her, despite his assurances that his grip with true.  
  
"No, Peter, I can't! I will fall!" Wendy squealed.  
  
Finally, the light in Peter's head lit. Although he could not expect Wendy to conjure up very many Happy Thoughts at this precise moment, he had to at least take a stab at it. He looked at Tinker Bell, hovering nervously close- by.  
  
"Tink! Hit her with some dust! NOW!"  
  
Peter tried not to notice that the pirates were now beginning to dock and pour out of the dinghies, every one of them singing a song of doom.  
  
Tinker Bell had her orders, and flying up next to Wendy's head, she rubbed her little hands together, building up the biggest and gayest batch of dust she could conjure...  
  
And as fast as you could think it, a game old parrot, squawking miserably, shot up seemingly out of nowhere and plucked the little fairy clean out of mid-air. In a flash, they were gone, disappearing into the jungle behind.  
  
"TINK!" Peter bellowed so loud his voice cracked and the entire island shuddered. He followed their path with his entire body, his obligations instantly altered.  
  
"Peter, NO!" Wendy pleaded to him, but it was for naught. He no longer heard her.  
  
So dreadfully did she feel Peter's grip from her hand slip free, and she could only watch helpless as he sprung from the cliffside with nary a second glance in her direction, disappearing with the wind in order to rescue his endangered and adored fairy.  
  
And no sooner had Peter's feet left the cliff than Wendy lost all hold upon the frail tree roots, hearing along with the awful snap as they broke in two the unbearable countdown to her own ruin. She shut her eyes tight, bracing for the end. Then the final root tore away and sent Wendy tumbling toward the merciless Bluff below. And thus she screamed her final plea to the Fates to make her demise as quick and painless as possible... 


	6. A FRESH OBJECTIVE

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...but I have dibs on February 5, 2007. (mwahahaha!)  
  
Here's Chapter VI .....please leave comments! :-)  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
VI. A FRESH OBJECTIVE  
  
Being the concerned readers that we are, it is only natural that our first priority above all else at this point is to know what has become of Wendy Darling after that dreadful plummet from the cliff. And so we dash off straight away toward Blind Man's Bluff so that we may see what fate has ultimately befallen our heroine.  
  
But alas, we arrive at the Bluff and find nothing! We are certain we saw her fall – right there, on that very rock. What do you suppose has become of her? Did Peter fly back to her rescue? No, we know this not to be true, as he is still in the jungle searching heartily for the abducted Tinker Bell.  
  
Perhaps the Lost Boys came back for her upon Peter's instruction...No, they have no stake in the older girl's life whatsoever. So, what can it be that has removed Wendy from what most assuredly had been her final resting place? Vultures? Indians? Mermaids?  
  
Aha! The Mermaids!  
  
Those dark and mysterious creatures of the sea know all that occurs in Neverland. Surely, they will be conscious of Wendy's whereabouts. And we, being in the privileged position that we find ourselves, are perfectly entitled to ask this of them. So let us be off, shall we, to the Mermaid Lagoon...  
  
The creatures are there, and they seem to have been waiting for our arrival all along. Good fortune for us! Now, 'tis time we pose our query to them, but wait, not too close! For no matter how quiet and unassuming they may appear, they shall not think twice about dragging you to a watery grave! So please, do take caution.  
  
We ask the question, and they respond in their quirky language, but as I have told you, we possess an ability to understand them. However, they speak to us in riddles –  
  
"Where the Wendy goes, only the Devil knows."  
  
Oh, why can't these blasted creatures speak plainly? Taking note of our displeasure, they go quiet and then simply cast their eyes darkly in the opposite direction from us, toward a sinister brig floating in the shadows near the shore.  
  
Ah, now we understand. We know the Devil of whom they speak. And it is not Peter Pan, as you might be suspecting – no, Peter is merely a *demon*, but the Devil himself resides elsewhere in Neverland. And instead of a pitchfork, he carries something quite different yet similar affixed to his right hand. And even his beard does he wear akin to Lucifer himself.  
  
'Tis James Hook who holds the secret of Wendy's fate. And aboard the Jolly Roger is where our story shall resume...  
  
* * * *  
  
A pair of robust shadows lingered over Wendy's delicately bruised features as if an inquisitive shroud. These shadows had voices, and they used them blithely.  
  
"Could it truly be?" The first voice asked. It's deep, velvety timbre only seemed to darken the room further.  
  
"I can't rightly be sure," the other shadow whispered anxiously. "But it could be no other."  
  
"Yes," came the reflective reply.  
  
"Red-Handed Jill?"  
  
And then a sigh: "The Wendy..."  
  
The shadows eased from the girl's face, which remained walled up soundly in wounded slumber. Besides she, there were three other occupants of the tiny, dimly-lit room, each more depraved than the next. One had stepped forward and taken hold of her wrist, surveying the cuts and scrapes upon her arms through a malevolent looking monocle affixed to his right eye. He set her arm down and let his hand drift toward her knees and ankles, all at once shaking and nodding his head, giving such vague indication of his meaning to the two other eager persons loitering in the background.  
  
One of these stepped from the shadows once more like a smoky breeze billowing from a hellish portal, allowing a flicker of candlelight to expose one dreaded half his long dreaded face. The illuminated right eye twinkled with such a blue brilliance as to rival the most tropical of seas known to Man. It, and a terrible metal claw protruding from his right arm, hovered like a lurid omen over the unconscious young lady's still figure. Had it been aware of this, it would have shuddered.  
  
She was indeed the Wendy girl, with whom this dark and sinister man was well acquainted. At least, he thought he had been. Even in the rusty dimness of this cabin, he could plainly take notice of the changes in her. Her face had thinned whilst her body had rounded, and the damage to her dress caused by the jagged rocks of Blind Man's Bluff exposed some portions of her flesh not suitable for viewing except by a lady's betrothed. But Captain James Hook, ever appealing to the façade of gentility he held to so steadfastly, politely averted his eyes from these prohibited areas.  
  
But what was she doing back in Neverland? No, she was not quite grown-up yet, but she appeared far too mature than anyone the Captain would expect to see in Peter Pan's privileged company.  
  
James Hook stopped and grinned to himself a moment. "Too mature." The Wendy girl had been "too mature" for Pan even at the age of twelve. She had come, at that time, to be a mother to the Boy and his band of delinquents. Now, she could fit the part most accurately!  
  
The strange little man in the monocle continued his thorough examination of Wendy's limp body. You would never be able to tell, being the refined and civilized person you are, that this man was actually a doctor. Given his wool cap and red-stained leather apron, he would more likely be mistaken for the corner butcher than a man of medicine. But, you see, he was also a pirate, and as such only came to the ways of healing and surgery through a stark process of elimination. He exhibited a knack for it and was therefore made the ship's surgeon with nary a note of certification to his name. 'Twas dubious, to be sure, but one shan't be too particular when stranded aboard a pirate ship in the middle of a perpetual dreamscape known as Neverland.  
  
"Well, what is there to tell, Doc?" The ship's Captain inquired impatiently, referring to the man by his generic and impersonal nickname.  
  
Doc shrugged matter-of-factly as he resumed his probe. "Eh, she'll live."  
  
Hook let his eyes, brimming with dark ideas, first drift toward the wall in front of him and then toward the third person in the room behind him. His gaze set firmly upon the stocky elder man, who was his chief bosun, and his notice was met with an equally interested one. The gray-bearded pirate could see all the thoughts racing through his captain's mind simultaneously, and he knew where to which they all came down – or rather to *whom* they all came down. For everything, both in Neverland and in James Hook's haunted life, always came back to that boy...  
  
Just then, all deliberations in the cabin came to a stop. The Doc had been holding Wendy's wrist in order to obtain a pulse when she suddenly seized upon his hand and groaned. All eyes shot in her direction whilst hers remained closed but tightened. She gripped forcefully the doctor's hand and wept under the thin blanket of her subconscious.  
  
And her lips found their way to form the terrible words: "Peter...no...please don't go...don't leave me..."  
  
Her sobs were soft but painful as her plea. And it was all music to Captain Hook's ears. He sensed his man Smee at his side, and he turned halfway to him.  
  
"Can it be..." Hook muttered gleefully, "...that Pan has abandoned her? His Wendy?"  
  
"I thought I spotted 'im at the top o' that cliff, Cap'n," Smee offered, "but when I saw 'im fly off without the girl, I thinks to meself, 'Naw, can't be 'im! 'E wouldn't leave 'er alone like that!'"  
  
Hook raised a cocky eyebrow. "Or *would* he, Mr. Smee?"  
  
The two men turned their attention back to Wendy, who was being gently persuaded back into sleep by the doctor and a goodly amount of brandy. Soon, her weeping ceased and she let her hand fall onto the cot where she lay. The doctor tossed Hook a reassuring glance that the young lady's fit had passed. All was quiet once again.  
  
But inside the dreadful hollows of Hook's mind, a din such that you could not imagine tore through the silence and beat like a merciless drum. This drum chanted the name of Pan, and its echoes sent ripples of excitement and frustration all at once swirling about Hook's head. He knew he had laying before him a great weapon with which to destroy Peter Pan. He had nearly succeeded with it once, only to fall prey so foolishly to the girl's impish word games. Calling a kiss a "thimble"...What silliness! And yet it had saved Peter from certain doom. She was a clever one. Hook would have to be mindful of that. Yet he merrily welcomed such a challenge.  
  
With eyes ablaze, Hook spun around on his heel and marched toward the door, bellowing "Smee! Come!" as if the older man was but a pet.  
  
They moved to exit the room, but at the last moment, Hook stopped and turned once more to the doctor.  
  
"Do not leave her side for a moment, Doc," he ordered. "If she so much as twitches a pretty eyelash, alert me at once!"  
  
Without waiting for the doctor's acquiescence – for surely the man would not be so foolhardy as to challenge the Captain's instructions – Hook swung the door shut and made his way briskly to his own quarters, his bosun shuffling behind. Once both men were inside the captain's cabin, Hook threw his arms into the air and released from the deepest pit of his belly a laugh so maniacal that Smee instantly shut the door so as to prevent the outburst from poisoning the fresh air outside.  
  
"Do you know what we have here, Smee?" Hook hissed, more or less to himself.  
  
"What's that, Cap'n?" He needn't have asked, for Hook would tell him anyway.  
  
"Laying beneath the cloak of a deep, desperate sleep, we have in our possession Peter Pan's inescapable downfall! His one weakness in this world come back to haunt him...the one weapon that has ever succeeded in felling that brazen lad!"  
  
Smee couldn't help but get swept up in Hook's contagious enthusiasm. "'E sure fancied that young lady but good, didn't 'e?"  
  
Hook grinned luxuriously at this next memory. "Aye, just the thought of her no longer caring for him reduced him to nothing more than a soiled lump upon the deck of my ship." He stroked his claw in thought. "But this is not the target at which my arrow points."  
  
"Whatchya thinkin', Cap'n?" Smee stood by with bated breath. It seemed nearly an eternity since Hook last hatched a devious scheme.  
  
"If it true that Pan has abandoned her, and therefore no longer cares, I could not use his feelings for her to my advantage. BUT –" The pirate's eyes grew round as saucers, "If he has left her in such a thoughtless manner, I could use HER feelings for HIM to my advantage."  
  
Smee's enthusiasm waned. "I don't follow, sir."  
  
Hook let out a frustrated grunt, as if Smee should be able to simply read his mind. "Smee, you ignorant goat, don't you see? Red-Handed Jill lives!"  
  
"Eh?" Smee was more confused than ever.  
  
Hook began pacing about the room, no longer concerned with his bosun's presence. "Surely, the girl knows where his new hideout is!"  
  
"Oh! Aye!" Smee was beginning to catch on.  
  
"She will know, and she will tell us!"  
  
"She will?"  
  
Now Hook turned intensely to his first mate. "We shall keep her here, nurse her back to health, wait upon her hand and foot as if she were a queen! And all the while waiting for her precious Peter Pan to come to her rescue, but he will not, thus fanning the flames of her disdain for the boy until she becomes more than happy to tell us, the ones who have taken such great pains to see to her well-being, exactly where that surly boy now calls home!"  
  
Smee would never tell, but he did not think really this such a grand scheme. For one, it sounded as if the pirates would be trading in their shiny cutlasses for silver platters. For another, well, it was not very creative and seemed all too simplistic. In truth, Smee had watched helpless his Captain's schemes rapidly wane in their ingenuity and his desperation call upon the most ridiculous of conspiracies at which Hook held to for dear life. He was fast running out of options. And Smee, being at a disadvantage in both intelligence and rank, could only stand by and offer suggestions.  
  
And this is the suggestion he offered at once: "Cap'n, can ye be sure Pan ain't gonna come back for the girl?"  
  
"Eh?" Hook's eyebrows furrowed and silently called Smee a fool.  
  
"It's just...forgive me, but..." Smee continued delicately, "We can't be certain Pan left 'er on purpose. Maybe he was distracted or forgot she was there, or..."  
  
Hook only stood silent and round-eyed, and Smee knew not whether he would strike him or praise him. And to his minor surprise, the Captain did both.  
  
"Smee!" Hook blurted, whacking his bosun upon the shoulder with his good hand. "You are a blithering moron, but even a blind squirrel finds an acorn on occasion!"  
  
"Oh, thank you, sir!" Smee was just happy not to have a claw in his belly.  
  
Hook walked past him and began pacing anew. "Yes, yes, yes, he may return to the Bluff thinking she is still there and wonder why she is not. We must find a way to convince him that she is no longer in Neverland and hence no longer available for rescuing!"  
  
"Shall we leave a letter for 'im, Cap'n?" Smee suggested happily, still milking the backhanded praise he had just received.  
  
Hook exhaled in inconvenienced frustration. "Smee, Pan can no more read a letter than I can play violin!" He waggled his claw for emphasis, just in case Smee had forgotten.  
  
"Well," Smee staggered, "I 'ave 'eard one of his Lost Boys does read letters..."  
  
Hook dismissed him immediately. "Forget the letters, Smee. Even if we did such a thing, Peter could simply ask those mermaids what – "  
  
The Captain stopped in his tracks. "Blast it, the mermaids!"  
  
"Erm, mermaids, Cap'n?"  
  
"Aye, Pan always turns to those slimy creatures for information to which he cannot be privy. They will know the girl is here, and they will tell him if he so asks it of them."  
  
Hook scratched at his beard with his claw in such a manner as to make Smee cringe for his safety. In the next moment, the cabin door was flung open and Hook was charging out onto the deck. Smee, followed, though Hook would have hardly noticed, and he found his Captain leaning over the side of the hull staring out to sea.  
  
He saw that look in Hook's cold, heartless eyes that he had seen so often before whence an epiphany was bubbling to the surface. Smee needed only to say nothing and wait for it.  
  
At last, Hook relaxed his countenance and turned to his bosun with a casual air.  
  
"Smee, ready the dinghy," he instructed smugly. "We are going fishing." 


	7. SETTING THE STAGE

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...but I have dibs on February 5, 2007. (mwahahaha!)  
  
Here's Chapter VII .....please leave comments! :-)  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
VII. SETTING THE STAGE  
  
The Fates were on the side of James Hook that breezy evening. But even more a rare treat was that *Time* was on his side as well. I shall explain how each was thus.  
  
Regarding Fate, it was most fortunate for the pirate captain that Peter Pan continued to be preoccupied scouring the forests of Neverland for his lost pixie whilst Hook chartered a dinghy for the mist-laden waters of Mermaid Lagoon.  
  
But this was ultimately of little consequence, for even if Peter had not been distracted in searching for Tinker Bell, Hook would still hold an advantage over him. This is where Time came to the Captain's aid. The mermaids, you see, can only be called upon at night. (We were able to entreat of them our own query because of our distinct advantage over even Captain Hook.) If Peter had been back to the Bluff to see to Wendy – which he had not – he wouldn't have been able to question the mermaids until after dark anyhow.  
  
Dusk had only begun to set upon the island when Hook boarded the dinghy, so he had Time. Ah yes, for such a brief occasion as this did Hook care to bestow a smile upon Time. So miserable a creature it habitually was, but not this day. And he had no intention of waiting until it turned itself over to the security of darkness, lest an unwanted run-in with the Boy should occur. By hook or by crook, the Captain would find himself a mermaid well before night had fallen.  
  
Accompanying him on this mission were four of his dogs. There was Smee, of course, to row the boat; the Jolly Roger's chief fisherman, a French bloke named Ouellette; and a pair of surly thugs called O'Keef and Fulton. A fine, ruthless quintet they made, and the seas blackened with every stroke of the oars at their miserable presence.  
  
They needed not to venture so very far from their Cove to reach the Lagoon, which shared the same stretch of beach. Ouellette lured the dark sea creatures with attractive baubles such as jewels and dead fairies. What proved to be the most effective were the pearls – for one can only obtain these from the mermaids themselves, so you can surely imagine the eagerness they felt to reclaim their stolen treasures.  
  
With O'Keef and Fulton's muscle and a large net, the pirates were quickly able to snatch up one of these scaly ladies, though not without quite a labored fight. Oh Heavens how she thrashed and squealed! And all the time, Captain Hook sat at the rear of the boat, coolly puffing at a cigar – or two – and patiently waiting his turn to confront the creature.  
  
Securely bound to the stern of the dinghy, she was now ready for Hook's scrutiny. The three dogs stood by, lest she try and escape, as the Captain made his way shrewdly toward her. She visibly softened a bit once their eyes met, as if their innate darkness had come together and reached a silent understanding. They were both equal outlaws of the sea. They both killed out of necessity and without remorse. In another world, they might be the closest allies. But in Neverland, the mermaids answered to Peter Pan, thus putting them in a rather unfavorable standing with Hook.  
  
"Evening, m'dear," Hook greeted superiorly before closing his lips around his cigar once more.  
  
The mermaid writhed angrily, venting a small snort of contempt.  
  
"Let me get straight to the point, shall I?" He crouched down before his captive, close enough that she may be able to see clear past the blue of his eyes toward the threatening red spots lingering close behind. She saw them distinctly, and she froze.  
  
"Peter Pan comes to you and your ilk for any and all hidden wisdoms of this detestable island, does he not?" This was rhetorical, so the mermaid did not respond. "And you know what fortune I currently harbor aboard my ship, don't you?"  
  
At this, the mermaid only gave Hook the slightest of sneers, as if to say, "Yes, I know – what do you suppose to do about it?"  
  
Hook easily matched her smug expression. "Of course you do. But you will not be indulging this valuable piece of information to the Boy should he come to seek it."  
  
The mermaid's grin withered.  
  
"You may tell him anything else you like – that she has gone back home or even that she is dead. But you *will not* tell him that she is in my custody."  
  
Now the grin was back, and it told Hook where he could properly stick his preposterous suggestion.  
  
But Hook was more the sly, and he crouched even closer to the creature, twirling his cigar between his fingers, dangerously close to her bluish face. She recoiled faintly.  
  
"If you do not comply with my wishes, dear, I can promise you that myself and my men shall be feasting heartily on fish fillets in the very near future." He let his eyes widen and wash over her scaly lower half hungrily. "I bet you in particular would be most delicious with a nice sauvignon blanc..."  
  
Had she not been so restrained, the mermaid surely would have slaughtered the Captain right then, and not for want of trying as she instantly threw up another horrifying fit. Hook leaned back a tad whilst his men held her at bay once more.  
  
"'Tis a very simple request," Hook stated matter-of-factly, toking his cigar. "I can't imagine why you should make such a fuss about it. Either keep from Pan the truth to the girl's whereabouts, or become a pirate's supper!"  
  
He shrugged and graced upon her the most deviously charming smile, and she was quick to acknowledge the sincerity in his threat. One must never put anything past this wicked man. She quieted and looked to him with an almost somber expression, something of a scarcity with her kind. He would surely follow through on his words if she did not obey, this could not be denied. He was just mad enough to do it.  
  
Seeing her struggles cease, Hook once more leaned in toward her. "I presume we have an understanding. So, you may run along and tell your sisters the jolly pact we have just made. Oh, and one more thing..."  
  
He leaned in further.  
  
"In case you forget, do give the rest of your kin their equal share of THIS – "  
  
In a flash, Hook's claw was raised and had swooped down through the netting to carve a brutal gash down the mermaid's scaly chest. Her wretched wail was deafening, but Hook paid it no heed as he leisurely stood, his cigar once more clasped between his teeth, and wandered back to the stern of the boat.  
  
He tossed his good hand to his men. "Get that vile thing out of my sight."  
  
Thus the wounded and infuriated creature was tossed overboard back to her briny domicile. As a final statement to her dissatisfaction, she hurled up a goodly wave of seawater with her tail before descending, drenching the pirates aboard the dinghy, and promptly extinguishing Hook's cigar.  
  
The Captain sighed and flung the useless cigar into the sea behind him.  
  
"Detestable island..."  
  
* * * *  
  
'Twas well past nightfall when Peter finally recovered Tinker Bell in the jungle. He had turned the whole island practically on its ear in search of her. The one-eyed parrot had not carried her long – he swept her up a few meters and then dropped her whence his tattered wings began to give out, and he returned to his pirate masters before they had an inkling he had ever been gone. Peter was unaware of this and imagined he must have carried her further into the jungle when in fact she was lying quite near where she had been plucked up.  
  
Peter found her at long last tangled within a tree branch, not seriously harmed but quite immobile. She began to cry tiny fairy tears upon seeing Peter again, so immensely sorry that she was unable to carry out the orders he had given her to help Wendy. (Mind you, though, she was not sorry for Wendy but only for failing Peter.)  
  
Not until Tinker Bell had broached the subject did Peter suddenly remember – Wendy!  
  
Right then and only then, Peter contemplated all the possible consequences of leaving Wendy behind to rescue Tinker Bell. And with his faithful pixie now found and none the worse for wear, he dashed off hastily back to Blind Man's Bluff to see what had become of the girl.  
  
Of course, he did not find her there. Of course, this baffled him greatly. And of course, he sought the mermaid's guidance as to her fate.  
  
Quite as Hook had predicted, Peter descended upon the Lagoon that very night to call upon his slithery allies. They did not come to him right away. In fact, Peter had to fight the urge to dive into the water and pluck the peculiar creatures from their den himself! But with great hesitation did they eventually surface, peering at the Boy on the rocks in utmost uncertainty.  
  
The mermaid which Hook had interrogated kept her distance the most, lagging behind the others and never breaching the surface any further than her chin so that her telltale wound could not be discovered. She was allowed this reprieve, after all she had been put through earlier, and her sisters took on the loathsome task of deceiving Peter.  
  
Clicking and clucking away fluently in the mermaid language, Peter posed his question to the scaly females:  
  
"Where is Wendy?"  
  
The mermaids remained silent a moment and glanced at one another briefly. Then all eyes met again with Peter's, and they shook their stringy heads in unison.  
  
Peter found it a trifle queer that they should be so muted and laconic, but far be it for him to question such inherently baffling creatures.  
  
"Do you not know?" He asked in their special tongue.  
  
They only stared back at him unblinkingly.  
  
Peter was growing impatient. "Is she...dead?"  
  
Another wary glance was exchanged amongst themselves, followed with a slow head shake.  
  
"Then where is she? Did she go home?"  
  
One more silence, then one more look exchanged, this time proceeded by a languid nod.  
  
Peter sighed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness! I believe it is just as well that she is gone."  
  
The mermaids remained mum, their glassy eyes fixed upon his in an almost guilty expression. But Peter was far too careless to notice. He promptly thanked the mermaids for their time and flew away from the Lagoon with not another thought on the matter. Wendy had gone, and it was for the best. Despite any lingering affection Peter may have held for her, she had no business being in Neverland. She had learned this the hard way. And neither she nor Peter would repeat such a mistake.  
  
As for the mermaids, they watched his departure sullenly, but their somber mood quickly gave way to contempt. And as they slithered back below the surface of their watery lair, they silently vowed their retribution upon the dastardly pirate captain for making them betray Peter.  
  
Thus peace and silence once again fell upon the mermaid's den and its immediate surroundings. Not a soul hereto stirred within the vicinity – that is, all save for the bearded little man some distance away with a spyglass fixed upon the Lagoon... 


	8. THE VIGIL

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...Obviously.  
  
Here's Chapter VIII .....Comments, comments, s'il vous plaît! :-)  
  
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VIII. THE VIGIL  
  
At Captain Hook's request, Wendy had been moved to his personal quarters where she could better heal in relative comfort. Hook thought it most imperative that Wendy should awaken to more pleasant surroundings than the dingy and impersonal infirmary. Matching the stateroom in both size and garishness, Hook's chambers offered his guest a suitable place for privacy and safety. Hook had not much use for it himself, as he hardly ever slept, and so he was little inconvenienced by Wendy's presence in his oft-vacant bed.  
  
He left Wendy in the Doc's faithful care while he was away tending to his tasks at Mermaid Lagoon, having sternly warned him to keep the cabin doors latched tightly should any of his boorish dogs come sniffing round the precious cargo. Most would not have cared to anyhow, for they believed that any encounter with the young lady aboard their ship would surely bring them a score of ill luck.  
  
And so, whence Hook returned only a short while later, he was pleased to see everything just as he had left it. He had found the doctor dozing at Wendy's bedside, but he was quick to his feet upon the Captain's imposing appearance. Hook wasted no time doling out orders.  
  
"Doc, our young miss is going to need her dress mended," he had stated grimly. "You will ever-so cautiously remove it from her person, wrap her in one of my waistcoats in the meanwhile, and hand the tattered garments off to Smee for repair." His eyes narrowed. "I will be waiting outside the door, so I suggest you curtail any 'tempting distractions' that may present themselves to you."  
  
He arched an insinuating eyebrow at the Doc, who dutifully nodded his compliance. So, whilst the Captain and his bosun stood beyond the door, Doc set to work hastily disrobing Wendy, careful enough not to disturb her and averting his eyes from upon that which would be inappropriate to gaze. In record time did he have the girl out of her nightdress and into the Captain's waistcoat, and when he emerged from the bedchamber, he quickly handed Smee the torn garments with a wipe of his brow.  
  
This gesture had not been lost on Hook, as was not the doctor's foggy monocle. "She put up a good fight, Doc?"  
  
His tone was dark and dripping with horrible sarcasm, and the hopeless doctor knew he had no satisfactory answer. But he tried anyhow.  
  
"No, sir," he had staggered. "Just wanted the job done quick, like you asked."  
  
The corner of Hook's mouth lifted in a dubious smirk. He'd suddenly felt little trust in even the Doc as he glanced from him to the soiled nightdress in Smee's hands.  
  
"Off you go, Smee," Hook ordered. His bosun shuffled away dutifully. Hook turned his icy stare back to the Doc. "If it's all the same to you, I think I shall take over the vigil for our Wendy."  
  
Hook had received no argument from the doctor, and in no time, Hook found himself alone in his bedchamber with the sleeping girl. He adjusted the overstuffed armchair at her bedside which Doc had previously occupied and took his place upon it with a largely bothered sigh.  
  
For quite a long duration did Hook sit slumped and staring listlessly out the rectangular window on the opposite wall, growing ever more oblivious to Wendy's presence. He stroked his claw absent-mindedly and let his thoughts drift about in an aimless fashion whilst he watched the mocking Sun withdraw his countless arms over the horizon. Soon Pan would be making a visit to the Mermaid Lagoon. He pictured several scenarios in his head – of Pan's bitter disappointment at Wendy's apparent departure, or his elation that she was out of his way. He imagined what he would do if the mermaids disobeyed him and told Pan everything. He would surely infiltrate the ship and try to take her back.  
  
Or would he? Perhaps he would just leave her as he had at Blind Man's Bluff. Well, if that happened, all the better for Hook.  
  
The Sun had, at this point, disappeared completely for the night, and all was dark and indiscernible beyond the window in Hook's bedchamber. No longer finding this void worth looking at, he sighed once more and let his eyes wander toward the girl in his bed. Heavens, would she *ever* wake?  
  
When needed, Captain Hook could display an insurmountable degree of patience, but he was fast becoming quite anxious for the Wendy girl to open her eyes and set off Hook's scheme for winning her over and turning her against the Boy. Hook knew this would take some time and cunning to accomplish, and he was urgent to get on with it as soon as possible.  
  
He fought the temptation to simply grab the girl by the shoulders and rouse her awake himself. No, that would certainly not do. So, instead he occupied his idle mind with more troublesome things he must take into account once Wendy was alert and in his active company. He would have to work doggedly to gain her trust – or rather, RE-gain her trust.  
  
To his great disadvantage was the unfortunate fact that he had betrayed her horribly the last time they met. Without flinching, he had reeled her in easier than that blasted mermaid and then cruelly threw her back with the lure still piercing into her flesh. What he had not counted on was actually taking a liking to the girl whence they first spoke. She was far more intelligent and charming than he had given her credit for, and he found that he greatly enjoyed her company (although it is true that just about anything was an improvement over the dimwitted bunch with whom Hook was cursed to spend his days). 'Twas a shame that he would have to crush Wendy's poor naïve ego later on, but he would have liked her to have forgiven him and joined his crew as he had suggested before. But the damage had been done, he knew it, and he was not wholly surprised when she spat upon his offer. It would have been lovely to at long last have someone of his equal intelligence around to converse with, but seeing Pan dead was as fine a trade-off as could be expected.  
  
But alas, the Boy lived. And so did she, and together they set off Hook's gruesome defeat. No doubt had his deception remained bitter inside Wendy, and she would be no fool to him. Hook would have to count desperately on her bitterness toward Peter Pan's betrayal. Without this, Hook knew he had little chance of becoming her trusted confidant.  
  
The question of her disposition following Pan's defeat would hopefully not be one of contention this time around. If Hook played his cards right, then Wendy would happily see the Boy done away with just as much as he. She would gladly stay with him aboard the ship thereafter, and Hook would finally have himself a worthy companion with whom he could pass his incessant existence upon this miserable island.  
  
At the thought of this hopeful outcome, Hook had allowed a rare contented grin to creep onto his lips and his eyes to linger upon the quiet form within his bed. He had suddenly found himself growing eager for Wendy to awaken not just so that he could set his plans in motion, but because he longed to have an edifying conversation with the girl. She was a bit older and no doubt and many more wonderful stories and experiences of which to tell. He imagined himself lounging upon his fainting couch in the stateroom, after a long tiring day of pillaging and impiety, as sweet little Wendy sat nearby, regaling him with a story whilst she mended his stockings. What a charming little picture in his head!  
  
Hook had found himself inching closer to the sleeping girl as he thought of this, staring at her still face and imagining a smile upon it. How wonderful to see her smile at him. And her eyes – how glad it should make the old pirate if she should gaze upon him without a hint of malice within them.  
  
Oh, and what lovely hair did she have as well. It spread out all about her against the pillows. It almost did not look real; more like a silken blanket which taunted the satin quilt around her to dare and match its natural lushness. Without realizing it, Hook's one good hand had lifted from the arm of his chair and began to creep, as if of a mind all its own, toward this shroud sprouting from Wendy's head. His fingers had never the pleasure of entwining themselves within such luxuriance, and they would be happy to do so now, whilst Hook's mind was not of the wiser to it...  
  
It was at this precise moment that the door to the bedchamber swung open, and Hook's hand hastily found its way back to its startled master's side.  
  
"'E's done it, Cap'n!" came the bubbly half-whisper from Smee, grasping a telescope.  
  
Hook sat upright immediately and gritted his teeth. "Smee, hast thou taken all leave of your decorum?"  
  
Smee stood rigid. "Forgive me, Cap'n, but I thought ye'd like to know that Pan has just been to see the mermaids!"  
  
Interested, Hook stood. "Has he? And?"  
  
"'E wasn't there long. And when 'e left, he took the same direction which 'e came."  
  
Hook smiled greedily. The mermaids must have come through. "Splendid."  
  
Then suddenly, Hook frowned upon his bosun. "Should you not be attending to Miss Wendy's dress?"  
  
"Oh, 'tis done, Cap'n! I had to give it a good scrubbin' though, and I'm waitin' for it to dry."  
  
The Captain relaxed. "Aye. Well done, Smee."  
  
The little man smiled broadly. Such words of encouragement from his boss were quite seldom. "Thank you, Cap'n! Ye supper is about ready as well. Shall I prepare the table for ye now?"  
  
"Might as well," Hook responded with a lazy stretch. He tossed a last glance at the girl before he took his leave, but something made him stop.  
  
"You know..." he blurted before Smee had gone, "On second thought, Smee, bring my supper to me in here. Set up my writing desk thusly."  
  
His bosun hesitated a moment but dared not to ask a question. While Hook retained his place at Wendy's bedside, Smee toiled about, preparing the small desk near the window for use as an impromptu dinner table. When his supper was brought in, Hook sat before it, a full view of his bed and Wendy straight across from him. As always, Smee stayed close by for the duration of the Captain's meal, a jug of Muscat at the ready.  
  
Hook ate in silence, his eyes never straying from the bed. Smee was very near dozing on his feet when a tiny sound suddenly emerged from the other side of the room. Smee jumped at it, and Hook plunked his chalice down upon the table and froze.  
  
Wendy had sighed!  
  
In the bleak dimness of the room, Hook could see her stir slightly, and he rose from his seat to make his way warily toward her. He stood at the side of her bed and watched as she languidly began to turn over on her side toward him. Was she...? Yes, she was awaking! Hook shot over his shoulder a glance to Smee that could only be described as giddy.  
  
Hook adjusted his waistcoat and smoothed down his curls with his claw, readying himself for Wendy's appraisal. With a deep breath, Wendy's eyes finally creaked open. They blinked several times as they adjusted to the heavy and unfamiliar bed covers about her. Then, with a start, she hoisted herself up on one elbow, and her bleary eyes collided head-on with Captain Hook's.  
  
Hook grinned gallantly down at her, his arms outstretched in a gentleman's greeting. But Wendy said and did nothing, and only continued to stare unblinkingly. And then, with only the slightest twitch of the eyebrows, Wendy's eyes rolled back and she collapsed once again upon the bed.  
  
The Captain frowned and his arms dropped to his side. She was gone again! Highly troubled, he turned and looked to Smee, as if to ask what on Earth had just happened, and Smee could only shrug his shoulders. Hook fixated back upon Wendy, a deep frustration welling up inside of him.  
  
Just then, as if a lightning bolt had struck, Hook realized what he had done. The last time Wendy Darling had set eyes upon him, he was being swallowed whole by a crocodile! Well, 'tis of no wonder why she should faint dead away at the sight of him once more! Not to mention the unhappy terms in which they had parted company. It quickly became apparent to Hook that Wendy must be reacquainted with his unsettling existence delicately, and that he should perhaps *not* be present when she fully awakened.  
  
He would retain his vigil at her bedside, but at the first stirring, he would quietly slip out of the room. Just as he had done before, he would patiently let her come to him. 


	9. REAQUAINTANCE

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...Obviously.  
  
After an excruciating wait (or not!), here's Chapter IX .....Comments, comments, s'il vous plaît! :-)  
  
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IX. REAQUAINTANCE  
  
Captain Hook had rather expected that Peter Pan and his band of juveniles would have come round to malice him and his crew whether they had any knowledge of Wendy's existence aboard his ship or not, if only for a childish lark. But quite the opposite proved to be the case. Hook had not a clue as to what would be keeping them away, although it happily afforded him extra leisure with which to tend to Wendy.  
  
He had stayed by her side following the 'false alarm,' and it is with much benefit that he did, for her slumber thereafter was mightily fitful, serving up to the Captain several bits of useful tidings.  
  
Wendy began to mutter in her sleep. More often than not, it was worthless gibberish, but on occasion was Hook able to discern quite clearly what emanated from her lips. He had transported a quill and tablet from his writing desk to the small endtable betwixt his chair and bed, and with these implements would he jot down anything at all that he could decipher from Wendy's mindless ramblings. There were quotes from Shakespeare, a few stern and one-sided instructions to her brothers, some children's limericks (these Hook disregarded immediately), a loving description of her mother's most divine evening gown, and there was even the frequent humming of bars of music, which Hook was easily able to scribble down and transpose into readable text for plucking out on his harpsichord later in the evening.  
  
And thus was what eventually roused Wendy from her long and painful slumber.  
  
She had been having a most curious dream, ever so much more so than the one where Captain Hook had been hovering over her as she slept. In this present dream, she saw herself tumbling from the cliff once more as Peter flew off, only to be caught mid-air by a large phoenix. This phoenix would then carry her back to her home in London, but it would be entirely empty. No parents, no brothers, just barrenness. Nothing but the sweetest and faintest sound of music bleeding through the naked walls, luring her tenderly to its source. Pressing her hand to the stark partitions, she would not feel a cold rigidity but a warm smoothness. Very curious indeed. Even more bizarre was that she found if she dug her fingers into the wall, it would yield just enough to allow her to grasp it. She longed for a closer look at this riddle...  
  
And then, with a great rush, her mind cleared and her eyes shot open with a start. Quite contrary to her troublesome dream, she was surrounded by much. And she was not leaned vertical against a billowing wall but was on her stomach atop a plush bed, burgundy and velvet draped all about her. Everything was different – everything, that is, except the music. The enchanting tune remained, and just as in her dream, it coyly entreated upon her of its inspection.  
  
She knew the tune well – Mozart's "Lacrimosa." She had in fact been dreaming of the tune recurrently. How peculiar that it was still playing though she was awake. Or was she truly?  
  
To answer this query, Wendy rolled to her side and pushed herself to a seated position. Straight away she realized she could not still be dreaming, for the sharp pain in her right arm spoke loudly otherwise. Once the sudden sting subsided, Wendy turned her head all about her, trying to discern her location. All the light she was afforded came from the big blue moon outside a window across from the bed where she lay. This was not quite sufficient enough to fully reveal her whereabouts, but it was enough to allow her to move about the mysterious room if she wished to.  
  
And wish she did, with a ferocious urgency. As the "Lacrimosa" continued to serenade her arousal, Wendy swung her legs around the edge of the bed and tried to stand. But she very nearly collapsed to the floor from the weight of her drowsy body upon a severely weakened left ankle. She instinctively looked down at it, and when she did, she saw her nightdress contorted in an odd assortment of ill-matching swatches and patches, crude mends and fraying slipstitches. Some unlearned individual had manhandled her clothing, though the intentions appeared well-meaning. But almost certainly more troublesome were the hodgepodge of bruises, scrapes, and patched up gashes – mended quite superiorly to her dress – upon her person. She remembered her fall from the cliff – surely, she should be dead. Or at the very least in far worse shape than she presently found herself.  
  
And still was that music. And the kitschy room she was standing shakily within. Her eyes darted all round her, trying to penetrate the still dimness and discover some shred of recognition. Nothing was immediately familiar to her. And she imagined that the gentle rocking from side to side was only her weary head still climbing its way back to consciousness.  
  
There stood near the window a writing desk, and it was quick to catch Wendy's eye. It was a marvelous piece – varnished rosewood in marble trim and legs molded to the likeness of Rubenesque ladies standing atop golden spheres. But far more interesting were the various objects atop the desk; a silver goblet with red gemstones, an inkwell in the shape of a Viking ship, and a large wooden box cast to the corner. She felt she had seen all these before, somewhere, and a tiny intuition inside her whispered that she might find her explanation inside of that daunting box.  
  
Oh, if only she could make her way to it more swiftly! Her mangled ankle bade her no easy crossing from the bed to the desk. But her curiosity overruled her pain, and, using the bed and other nearby sturdy objects to lean against, she managed to hobble to the box and steadied herself upon the desk.  
  
She now saw that the silver goblet had contents within, and the subtle scent of the dregs jogged her memory enough to at once begin forming an inkling as to where she was. 'Twas Muscat in the goblet. And only pirates drank Muscat.  
  
Wendy sought to confirm her hunch when she gently lifted the lid on the box at the corner of the desk. The eerie glimmer which the contents therein seized from the moonlight outside sent a shiver through Wendy's spine. There, nestled with a terrible lovingness betwixt several folds of red velvet, was a collection of iron appendages, all more menacing than the next. And in the middle sat a dreadful double claw – which had once before come so frighteningly close to Wendy's throat. It was the old pirate captain's case of hooks.  
  
So that was it – she was aboard the Jolly Roger. The pirates must have captured her after she fell. But whom was it playing Mozart in the next room? A new captain? Why were Hook's personal affects still strewn about the cabin? And what happened to –  
  
Wendy's muddled thoughts were suddenly cut off. The music had stopped, and in its place the muffled hum of male voices conversing. Wendy froze and waited. And then came the ominous clunk of footsteps inching closer to the chamber door which cried out for Wendy to make herself unassuming.  
  
As the footsteps grew nearer, Wendy's face screwed up in excruciation as she staggered her way back to the bed, first hopping on her good foot and then collapsing to the floor and crawling to her destination. The knob began to turn with a horrible moan as she hoisted herself up onto the bed, clawing her way toward the pillows in time to recover herself. Her brow dripping and heart pounding, she enveloped her wounded body within the heavy blankets and faced her back to the door, just in time enough to see a sliver of candlelight creep upon the wall in front of her.  
  
Her anxious eyes peered over the bed sheets, watching breathlessly as a dark silhouette imposed upon the widening crack of light against the wall. So well-known to her that shape was. But it couldn't be...  
  
A heavy sigh engulfed Captain Hook as he stood in the doorway of his bedchamber. Smee lingered close behind, craning his neck over Hook's shoulder toward the Wendy's flipside. She was as stagnant as they had last left her.  
  
"No," Hook muttered. "The dark still clings to her."  
  
His voice like a cannon hurtled through the air and struck Wendy in the back of her head, washing over her entire person like a sickening nightmare. She knew his voice as readily as she did Peter's, only there was one significant disparity – Hook was dead!  
  
But the Captain stood very much alive at the threshold, looking upon the lump in his bed with growing disdain. And he was just about to leave when his keen eye was lured toward a glistening near the window. He noticed directly that his case of hooks was opened. He had not left it so.  
  
A cunning smirk found its way to his face so handsomely grim, and in an instant his mind fixated on the opportunities before him. Contorting his expression into a faux melancholy, Hook brought his hand to his chest and sighed.  
  
"Oh dear me, Smee," he groaned pitifully.  
  
"Yes, Cap'n?" came the anxious reply.  
  
Smee! Had Hook's poor old bosun expired as well?  
  
For the benefit of Smee, Hook pointed toward the open case on his desk with his hand, which was cleverly masked by his shadow so as not to give himself away to Wendy.  
  
Hook continued his charade. "I fear our poor Wendy may never waken. What a frightful shame, for I had so looked forward to making amends for the contemptible way in which I treated her when last we met. 'Tis quite regrettable that she may never hear my plea for forgiveness."  
  
Wendy listened intently. A rueful Hook? What sort of alternate universe had she slipped into?  
  
Happily playing along, Smee added, "Indeed, Cap'n! An' that loverly pendant necklace ye 'ad planned to give 'er, well, ye may as well throw it back into the sea where ye found it now!"  
  
Pendant necklace? Why, how charming!  
  
Hook thought so too, and he tossed his bosun a widely approving glance.  
  
"Aye, Smee, the necklace..." Hook thought a moment and then expelled one last weary sigh. "We will allow her one more day, Smee, and if she is yet unroused, I'm afraid we shall have no other choice than to leave her at the disposal of the mermaids."  
  
Hook believed he saw Wendy stiffen.  
  
"I sincerely hope it shan't come to that," Hook continued, almost as if addressing Wendy directly, and he grew rather thoughtful. "'O that you were your self; but, love, you are no longer yours, than you your self here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, and your sweet semblance to some other give...'"  
  
His humid voice trailed off as he stepped back and let the door close gently, half-hoping Wendy would pop up from her bed and reveal herself right then. But she did not, and so he slithered off, grinning shrewdly, and shut his chamber door.  
  
Wendy held her breath a bit longer and listened for the sound of Hook's boots to fade. He had recited the first few lines of Shakespeare's Sonnet XIII, whose portentous allusions of death left Wendy greatly unsettled. Did this mean she was still alive? Or had she truly expired as well, hence making Hook's ghostly narration no more than a misguided threat from a reluctant soul in limbo? And if this was the case, could Wendy herself be trapped in purgatory?  
  
From whence Wendy lay, there was truly only one way in which to address these uncertainties. She would have to be brave and face whatever lurked beyond the bedchamber, be it the Ghost of Hook, or the Devil himself...or perhaps both one in the same!  
  
All became still once again. As Wendy rolled over onto her back, nary a footstep nor another note of Mozart bled through the chamber walls. The silence nearly became deafening, until Wendy was sure she heard the cabin door open and close. Had Hook left? 'Twas now the time to discover her fate.  
  
A grueling limp staying her haste, Wendy staggered to the chamber door but by inches. Once there, she put one bruised hand upon the knob and gave it a laborious turn. It moaned softly, making Wendy grimace, and gave way for the door to crack open. Leaning her face close to this tiny gap, she peered into the stateroom.  
  
There were no Hell fires or demons gaily prancing about, no indications at all of anything other than precisely how Wendy had remembered the Captain's quarters to be. It was eerily quiet – but are not most things aboard the Jolly Roger eerie – and presumably unoccupied for the moment, and so Wendy parted the door further. Having been asleep for so very long a period, even the soft glow of several lit candelabras strained Wendy's weary eyes, and she squinted in her ocular perusal of the cabin.  
  
It was indeed quite lifeless as far as she could determine, and a scarce opportunity to escape the wicked brig presented itself heartily before the girl. She knew the ship well – its very blueprints were stored in her dreams – and she believed she could slip away undetected through the stern if only she could flee the Captain's quarters without exposing herself. Where she should go from there she would think about once at it.  
  
The door was now fully agape, opening into the stateroom. No one had leapt from the shadows to catch her in the act, and so Wendy supposed herself quite alone. Hobbling awkwardly, she crept across the room, around opulent furnishings and plush carpets, toward the cabin doors – so near yet so far.  
  
She was not halfway to her destination when she heard that sound which makes all mortal men's bones rattle...  
  
"Evening, Wendy."  
  
In spite of her injury, Wendy was spun around as if not of her own power, and thus she saw Hook, sitting at his supper table so unobtrusively as if just another part of the gaudy décor.  
  
"So delighted you could join us."  
  
Us? Wendy's eyes shifted to the bedchamber door, which began to close and reveal Smee standing on the other side of it, his trusty jug of Muscat in hand.  
  
Another untimely fainting may very well have occurred at this point, but Wendy had a much tighter grip upon her faculties this time. Though her head was a-swoon and her stomach in knots, she managed to find her voice.  
  
"Then it is true," she gulped, her gaze moving back toward the shady Captain.  
  
"I am afraid so," Hook replied regrettably, not entirely sure of what Truth she spoke.  
  
Wendy's shoulders sank. "I am dead, aren't I?"  
  
"'Dead'?" Hook blurted, startling her. And then came a hearty laugh. "Oh, no, my dear, you are very much alive, thank Heavens!"  
  
"Then what is it I am looking at?" Wendy took a wary step forward. "Some sort of ghost?"  
  
"Ghost? Me?" Hook scoffed sardonically. "I do often feel in such a fashion. But no, I have not gone on to my Great Reward either, I assure you."  
  
Wendy stood in the center of the room, a million and one questions threatening to spill forth from her cluttered mind, and Hook took note of her wavering.  
  
"Oh dear, where hast mine manners gone?" He gestured to his bosun. "Smee, see our guest to a chair at once!"  
  
Smee set down his jug and tottered toward Wendy, helping her into a chair across the supper table from the Captain. She had found herself in this position before, hadn't she, and under rather similar circumstances.  
  
At this proximity, Wendy could clearer see the Captain's face, not wholly different from how she recalled from years past, but indeed there was something peculiar and new about the way in which her eyes beheld his visage. But she could not conclude whether it was a change in he or a change in herself. Somehow, he seemed...milder.  
  
"There, much better," Hook said, letting a charming grin play upon his battle-lined features. "Smee, fetch a plate for Miss Wendy so that she may share a proper meal with me."  
  
"No, thank you," Wendy asserted quickly.  
  
"Oh, but you must!" Hook insisted. "You have been asleep for days and have not eaten a thing!"  
  
"Little would that matter; nobody ever starves in Neverland," she retorted.  
  
Hook was admittedly rather taken aback by Wendy's surliness, but he let it roll off his back at once.  
  
"As you wish, m'dear." And he waved Smee away from the table.  
  
"And what of you?" Wendy finally found the gumption to ask. "How are you not dead?"  
  
"Aye, that..." Hook mused, taking a sip of Muscat. "'Twas quite simple, really, and a touch ironic. As I am sure you gleefully recall, what with that delightful little chant you and your comrades crafted at my expense, I was most brazenly buried alive in the belly of that bloody beast."  
  
Hook smiled to himself. He did so enjoy a good alliteration.  
  
"I had spent nary an entire minute within that abyss," he continued with barely contained amusement, "when it dawned upon me that I was not unarmed. That which first put the taste for me in this monster's mouth proved to be my divinity after all."  
  
He brought his claw near his face with an almost lascivious pride. "And so I gutted the brute, from the inside out."  
  
Wendy wrinkled her nose at such a vile image, but only in reaction to Hook's spirited telling of it. For you see, she had only been half- listening anyway. He was alive and he had an explanation for it, and that was all she was needing to know on the matter. More important quandaries weighed upon her mind.  
  
"How long have I been here?" she asked.  
  
Hook could not help but feel disappointed at how unimpressed she appeared with his gallant tale. "A couple days," he sighed, putting on an unaffected front.  
  
"And you have not heard..." Wendy started but then stopped, not sure if she truly wanted to ask. "That is, there has been no..." Now she was not sure she wanted an answer.  
  
Hook watched her and feigned obliviousness to her concern.  
  
She decided to ask after all. "And Peter has not come for me?"  
  
Hook pretended to be surprised at the question. "Peter?" He stroked his beard. "Peter, Peter, Peter...Peter Pan. Why, I don't believe I have seen that boy in ages, have I, Smee?"  
  
His bosun was quick to the task. "Been a dog's age since your last spar with 'im, aye, Cap'n!"  
  
Hook turned back to Wendy with a casual shrug. "I'm sorry, dear, but Peter Pan has not breached this ship in quite some time."  
  
Wendy looked incredulous, though in her heart, she had quiet expected – and dreaded – this answer.  
  
"He...does know you are here, does he not?" Hook asked shrewdly.  
  
"He ought to," Wendy replied, mostly to herself. "He knows everything that occurs in Neverland. And what he does not know, the mermaids tell him."  
  
"Aye, indeed, the mermaids," Hook stifled a wicked grin, but Smee was not quite so successful, and he turned from Wendy. "I would suppose 'tis only a matter of time before Pan comes for you."  
  
Wendy's eyes suddenly grew large. "That is why I am here, isn't it? You are setting another trap for Peter!"  
  
"My dear!" Hook exclaimed, pretending to be scandalized.  
  
"Well, I shan't be a pawn in your dirty dealings again, Captain!" Wendy attempted to stand abruptly, but she had quite forgotten about her ankle, which bade her cry out and fall back into her chair at once.  
  
"You really must be careful, darling, you are not quite fully recovered as yet," Hook instructed flatly.  
  
Still reeling from the sudden burst of pain, Wendy went mum momentarily.  
  
"Look, Wendy," Hook began, laying his hand and hook flat on the table, "I can understand that you have every reason in Creation to distrust me, but you must believe it when I tell you that my intentions here are bereft of any malice."  
  
"And how am I to believe that?" Wendy asked, softening a bit as she recalled Hook's rueful monologue in the bedchamber.  
  
The Captain took a pondering breath. "'Tis a funny thing, you know, being swallowed whole by a crocodile – It really makes one think!"  
  
Wendy remained quiet and gave ear.  
  
"And as I lay in its belly," he continued, "utterly humiliated and defeated, I thought to myself 'What have I done to deserve this fate? What sort of atrocities can one person possibly commit in a lifetime to have this brought upon himself?' And at that moment, I had an epiphany – an awakening! And most important, I had a way out. This fine hook of mine should afford me a second chance, but how would I then repay the Fates for bestowing it upon me? One is not just handed an opportunity for redemption such as this so they may continue pursuing their aimless lives as if nothing had ever happened. Do you follow me?"  
  
Wendy nodded prudently.  
  
"And so I gathered up every lingering scrap of rage and bitterness inside me, and I allowed it to carve out a path to indemnity through the walls of my prison, both internal and external. Once free, I found myself immersed beneath the waves, and when I finally breached the surface and took a deep breath, well, I rather felt as if I had been...reborn!"  
  
Hook caught Wendy's skeptical glare and grinned sheepishly. "I know it must all sound rather hackneyed and melodramatic from where you are sitting, but, my dear Wendy, only when you have existed going on centuries within the pits of Hell, 'tis when you scratch and claw your way out of it that you can truly understand that which I struggle to illustrate to you now."  
  
Wendy's head and heart were having a quiet squabble over whether to believe the pirate's words as genuine. And she knew not for which she was rooting to prevail. Oh, blast that man and the ease with which he could throw her reason and emotions into such disorder! 'Twas so much simpler in her dreams – when she did not have to face him on her own.  
  
She glared at him and found herself speaking at last: "Your words fly up, your thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to Heaven go."  
  
Hook knew it from Hamlet, and he happily rose to her clever challenge. "'The quality of mercy is not strain'd. It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.'"  
  
"The Merchant of Venice," Wendy murmured. She lifted one begrudging eyebrow. "I would never imagine that you would be versed in Shakespeare."  
  
The Captain gave a charmed laughed. "My dear, I was not born a pirate, you know!"  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way." Wendy cast her eyes down at her hands in her lap. "Have you renounced piracy altogether then?" She had just the tiniest spec of hope.  
  
But the true Captain revealed himself once more. "My darling girl, I do need to make a living, you know! Redemption is not so all-encompassing as one would like."  
  
Wendy figured this would be his response, and she crossed her arms with blatant suspicion. She turned over his most recent recitation in her mind. "So, by 'him that takes' of your mercy...Do you mean Peter?"  
  
"You know that I do," Hook replied with a sudden and disquieting softness.  
  
"Why?" was all Wendy could think to ask further.  
  
He upturned his palm. "Is it not perfectly obvious? Peter Pan has been the one source of my Great Suffering. I was quite a cheerful and noble fellow once, you know. I should like to reacquaint myself with these sentiments someday. Long before the crocodile did so, my obsession with that boy had swallowed me whole."  
  
"Oh...and am I to be your 'new obsession' again, Captain?"  
  
The frightful sarcasm in her tone nearly left Hook breathless, and he put his hand to his chest.  
  
"My, but you are so much more churlish than I remember!"  
  
"I was younger then," Wendy confessed reluctantly.  
  
"Aye that you were." Hook could nary disagree. "And had I not warned you then what a dreadfully barbarous endeavor was growing older?"  
  
Indeed he had, Wendy admitted to herself. Such a frightful inconvenience it was. Hook, on the other hand, rather thought it suited her nicely. He watched her carefully mull over all the words that he had rehearsed so diligently whence she slept.  
  
He stepped lightly round his next query to her. "I gather...Pan has not taken this too agreeably?"  
  
"Quite not!" Wendy blurted against her better judgment. "He thinks me so old! But I am not yet eighteen!"  
  
She perhaps should have remained vague and surly, but in truth, she longed for someone to be her sounding board in this matter. And Hook was all to eager to oblige. Though he had not yet decided whose side with which to ally himself.  
  
"A shame it is too; the boy is so awfully unforgiving," Hook divulged with faux concern. "I find it shall take a Herculean effort for him to accept mine own amends."  
  
"Do you honestly seek a truce with Peter?" Wendy could almost believe anything else but this.  
  
"Intensely." On cue, Hook was remarkably able to produce a single, disingenuous tear in his eye. "But alas, he continues to refuse me. I suppose he shan't be blamed for that. But it is of utmost cruciality for me, for without his forgiveness, I am still trapped. But if I can gain it, then maybe he will be so kind as to liberate me once and for all from this island."  
  
And then he grinned with a perverse impishness. "I must confess, I did have an ulterior motive for bringing you to my ship."  
  
Aha! She had suspected so all along!  
  
"You see," he explained, "I figured that if I were to salvage you from those rocks, bring you aboard my ship and coax you back to life, then perhaps Peter would receive my penance whence he saw how well I had taken care of His Wendy."  
  
Wendy seemed as though she was wrestling with offense. Hook was quick to cover his tracks.  
  
"Oh, but I assure you, this did not come to me until after I had you on board and knew you would live. Of course, I could not, in good conscience, leave our Red-Handed Jill pitilessly for dead upon the Bluff." He smiled charmingly, his charismatic blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight.  
  
Wendy strove hard not to be influenced by those eyes. "But yet he has not come for me."  
  
Hook dismissed the detail with a wave of his hand. "Oh, he shall, I am certain. 'Tis only a matter of time. Why should he not? You are still his Dear Wendy, aren't you?"  
  
She hung her head so that he would not see her eyes grow moist. "I am unsure anymore. I should very much like to go to him myself and ask, but I suppose I am not well enough for travel as of yet."  
  
A clandestine twinge in Hook's gut celebrated Wendy's acknowledgment of her extended stay aboard his ship. Though she appeared none too thrilled by it.  
  
"I have a proposition," he offered matter-of-factly, as if just thinking of it. "One that shall satisfy us both I think...When you regain your strength, if Pan has still not called upon you, then, perhaps...I can deliver you to him myself."  
  
Wendy's eyes shot back up towards his, peering in trade at her innocently over his goblet.  
  
"You...would take me to him?" The words spilled out of her mouth disconnected from her thoughts.  
  
Hook set down his Muscat. "Yes, you see how it should work amicably for us both? You could see Pan, and Pan could see me at your aid. And then, hopefully, alls well that ends well!"  
  
Wendy at once thought it most gentlemanly and gallant of the Captain, to see her safe passage into the forest to reunite with Peter as an olive branch. But could she truly be so gullible to take the pirate's word for it? I am happy to say she could not completely.  
  
"Captain..."  
  
Hook's eyebrows rose expectantly. "Mm?"  
  
"Is this just another cunning scheme to find Peter's hideout so that you may finish him off?"  
  
And then, Hook said something most unexpected:  
  
"Oh, I already know where his hideout is."  
  
"You do?" Wendy exclaimed. Smee almost did so himself.  
  
Hook nodded casually. "Absolutely! Why, I believe every creature on the island shares in this knowledge. Although I must profess, I have forgotten the way exactly. Possibly you could refresh me." Another beguiling smile spread across his lips.  
  
Wendy sat still, each new thought being negated by a newer one. She wanted to believe him, if for no other reason than she would like to see Peter again without a bloody battle ensuing. Could she trust him? To her advantage, she did have previous experience on her side. And in the meantime, Hook appeared to mean her no harm whatsoever. If nothing else, he was offering her a warm place to recuperate – and where should she find this if she were to jump ship and set out upon the island on her own? Perhaps, if only for a little while, she should play Silly Childish Wendy once more until she regained her health.  
  
Yes, she would match the old pirate at his own game...if there be one.  
  
"Very well, Captain Hook," she stated with her nose upturned. "I shall consider it."  
  
Inside Hook, a tiny parade erupted. But externally, he only grinned and bowed his head slightly to her. "'Tis all I ask."  
  
Wendy harkened to the words she heard him speak to Smee when he thought she was still asleep. This was the best evidence she presently had of his sincerity.  
  
Oh, but there was one other intriguing tidbit she remembered from that exchange...  
  
"Erm," she began offhandedly, "Is...that all...you wish to say to me?"  
  
Hook's brow lowered. "My dear?"  
  
She furrowed as well, coaxing an understanding from him. "Nothing else...at all...that you might...perhaps...want too...give me?"  
  
Hook went rigid, nary an idea in the least at what she may be drifting. What could he be wanting to give her? Why, the suggestive hint in her eye could almost be construed as something quite improper...  
  
But when Wendy aimlessly brought her hand near her throat, Hook's stomach did a flip.  
  
"Oh, oh! Quite so! Yes!" He recovered himself quickly, regressing back to his former confident character. "Aye, Wendy. I have a gift for you which I had been saving for the occasion of your arousal. A token of my earnest, you might say...But, erm, first, you must close your eyes!"  
  
Wendy, being merely a girl and hopelessly partial to the proposal of gifts, was only too happy to do so. 'Twas then that Hook saw her first smile, and it alighted upon the old pirate's shriveled heart like a kiss.  
  
But Smee's panicked flailing about the room quickly propelled Hook back to the present. He gestured toward a chest behind his harpsichord.  
  
"I think you will fancy it greatly," Hook prattled, trying to fill the silent breaks betwixt seeking the gift and finally presenting it. "I retrieved it, erm..."  
  
Smee had wondered to an urn by the window, and Hook impatiently snapped his hook to motion further to the right. Wendy remained giddily expectant and unseeing.  
  
"I retrieved it off the coast of Sicily," he continued, tapping a finger to his nose frantically when Smee finally set his hand upon the correct chest. "Um, yes, the coast of Sicily on route to Tunisia...across the Mediterranean..."  
  
Smee opened the chest and began to tunnel through a mass heap of plundered jewels and baubles, causing an unwanted racket. But still Wendy kept her eyes shut and paid heed to Hook's story.  
  
"We...intercepted a Spanish brig seeking passage to Egypt..."  
  
Smee anxiously held up a long beaded necklace, fitted with at least a hundred gold pieces, but Hook waved it away.  
  
"They had...been on a journey to deliver a large cache to the Royal Family..."  
  
Smee, in his haste, absent-mindedly held up a jewel-encrusted chalice, which gained him a very severe look from the Captain.  
  
"...We took the brig in only a matter of minutes..."  
  
Now Smee held aloft two necklaces, one in each hand. Hook's claw shot toward his bosun and pointed violently at one of them. Smee lifted the one in his right hand higher, and Hook waved his claw and shook his head.  
  
"We outnumbered them four to one..."  
  
Smee lifted the necklace in his left hand, but Hook's frantic nodding and waving confused the poor old man, and he presented the trinket to his right once again.  
  
Hook began to furiously wave Smee over to him at the table.  
  
"We fought them to the DEATH!" Hook hurled the final word to Smee with burning eyes, but Wendy thought it nothing more than an exciting illustration of his story.  
  
Quite flustered, Smee tottered over to the Captain, the two necklaces at hand, which Hook grappled for.  
  
"I killed the captain...keelhauled his crew..." He shoved Smee aside. "...and raped his mistress!"  
  
Wendy's face fell into visible disgust.  
  
"DRAPED!" Hook cried, tossing one of the two necklaces behind his chair. "I draped his mistress...in a cloak...and then made her walk the plank!"  
  
Wendy noticeably softened, though she did find it a frightful thing to have done.  
  
Taking a deep breath at last, Hook hung the prevailing necklace – a delicate gold chain off of which dangled an opal pendant with a diamond- plated setting – over his hand. He rose from his chair and came around to crouch on bended knee next to Wendy.  
  
"I recovered this from her private boudoir," Hook said coolly, his velveteen voice tickling Wendy's ear. "You may open your eyes now, Wendy."  
  
Wendy did, and Hook was so very pleased to see her eyes grow large and enchanted by the sparkling bauble. She clutched the pendant between her fingers and examined it more closely.  
  
Despite the brutish manner in which the gift had been obtained, Wendy smiled broadly. "How stunning!"  
  
Hook straightened and moved a bit closer. "Here, allow me..."  
  
"Oh...yes, of course..."  
  
Wendy turned her back to him and moved her waterfall of hair away from her neck. A rather pretty neck it was too, Hook thought, one that ought to be constantly adorned in jewels. For a moment, he wondered what it might look like with his claw buried in it...  
  
Hook brought his arms over her head and rested them blithely upon her shoulders, and thus was when he realized there was a problem. He could not possibly clasp the necklace with one hand and a hook. But this was not a quandary that he was wholly unfamiliar with, and he knew precisely what to do.  
  
"Pardon me a moment, dear," he said in a rather businesslike manner.  
  
Wendy half-turned her head just in time to see Hook incline his own nearer hers and toward his claw and snatch up the male end of the necklace with his teeth. The Captain observed Wendy stiffen significantly, and he found a slight humor in it.  
  
Wendy felt his hellish breath on the back of her neck, and though she did not find it wholly offensive, it was unsettling nonetheless. The Captain, however, was hardly affected at all, but he did take some enjoyment from the brief closeness. Despite all she had been through, she still emanated a most sweet and pleasant scent from her skin. He had many fond recollections of that scent from a few years past. 'Twas a very soothing and comforting fragrance.  
  
At last the necklace was attached, and Hook adjusted it a bit to fall properly upon Wendy's neck. The white and gold suited the fair Wendy's creamy skin like a dream. And she was quite pleased with the results.  
  
Thus Wendy bestowed her first genuine smile upon the Captain.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
This satisfied him immensely, and did he not once more experience the pangs of guilt for having to deceive the poor girl? Indeed, he did, but as always, his hatred for Peter Pan overruled all.  
  
"You are very welcome," Hook replied courteously, rising back to his feet.  
  
And then Wendy suddenly grew quite sad. She could not help but to recall the last time she had received a token to wear about her neck from an inhabitant of Neverland. Peter had given her that lovely acorn – his Kiss – which had saved her life when Tootles shot her. She now kept that Kiss safe in her hope chest.  
  
And with these recollections came the immediate reminders of her present predicament – that she was stuck, injured, aboard Captain Hook's ship and Peter had not yet attempted to rescue her. All the priceless opal pendants in the world could not truly make up for that.  
  
Hook plainly saw Wendy's cheerful countenance wane, but of course he knew not the reason for it.  
  
"If you don't mind terribly, Captain," Wendy said, staring off sadly, "I think I should like to excuse myself and get some more rest."  
  
"Oh, but of course...yes, you must," Hook acquiesced, now believing her sudden melancholy to be due to her wounds. "Smee shall see you back to bed."  
  
And with that, Smee came to Wendy's tender aid as she rose and hobbled to Hook's bedchamber. But just as she broached the door, she stopped and turned back to Hook.  
  
"Captain," she began meekly, "'Tis your bed that I am occupying, isn't it?"  
  
"Aye," Hook responded as casually as he could, should she be thinking something lurid of the matter.  
  
"But if I am sleeping in your bed, then where are you sleeping?"  
  
He was rather caught off guard by the question, but he found an answer anyhow. "Well, I have my fainting couch..."  
  
"Oh, but that shan't be sufficient for sleeping, could it?" Wendy went on, her maternal nature getting the best of her.  
  
Hook could not help but smile and be touched at her concern. "To be perfectly honest, Wendy, I really do not do much sleeping whence Peter Pan is in residence. So you needn't worry for me." Although he was delighted that she did. No one else ever had.  
  
"Are you quite sure?" Wendy pressed. "Because I am smaller and so much better suited to the couch..."  
  
Hook raised a hand and shook his head. "Nonsense. You require all the remedy that the bed affords more so than I."  
  
Wendy ceased her contention and smiled humbly. "All right then, if you insist."  
  
Hook gallantly waved her off. "Pleasant dreams, my hearty."  
  
Wendy returned to the peace and quiet of the bedchamber, her weary head craving no further troublesome thoughts and only delicious sleep. And just before she slipped away, she silently wished she had never taken the Wizard's magical offer...  
  
In the stateroom, Hook remained, lounging across his fainting couch, and pondering all the marvelous possibilities laying before him in the days ahead. 


	10. FAITH & TRUST

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...I hear it's illegal to own humans nowadays...  
  
WOW. I must take a moment here and acknowledge some of the reviews I have gotten in the past week. I must say, I am completely humbled! And here I was thinking my other fic ("A New Day") was the superior work! LOL! This story was really only meant as a personal exercise – and experimental character study more or less. But I am ecstatic to see so many enjoying it! It truly makes the effort so much more worthwhile. So THANK YOU! Of course, this does put some tremendous pressure upon me to continue being interesting and original – I hope I shan't disappoint any of you down the line!  
  
Anyways, here's Chapter X .....More reviews pleeeeeaaase!!! :-)  
  
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X. FAITH AND TRUST  
  
Peter Pan was growing restless, as was his wont.  
  
Since his return from the crocodile's belly, Captain Hook had kept a remarkably low profile, due largely to the utter humiliation at his defeat. Thus if Peter desired a good old-fashioned spar with his nemesis, he would have to seek it out himself. But so very weary had the Boy become in being the initiator that the respites between their battles widened exponentially.  
  
Of course, this was all very convenient for Hook, and I shan't need to explain to you why. But the hardened old pirate knew better than to get too comfortable, for Peter's whims changed with tides, and he set about making certain that Pan should not discover Wendy's tenancy aboard his ship before Hook had chance to carry out his Grand Scheme.  
  
A forty-gun brig requires a sizeable crew to run her, and a forty-gun brig that has not seen the seas for centuries bears a sizably expendable crew at a captain's disposal. Out onto the island did Hook send thirty or more of his men to monitor Peter Pan's every move from the outskirts. It was their strict duty to watch and anticipate the boy's intentions whence he emerged from beyond his secret lair, as yet undetected, and should he or his small army of ruffians appear to be craving an assault upon the Jolly Roger, Hook's men would create a delicious diversion to distract Peter's attention away from the ship.  
  
This proved to be not wholly difficult due to Peter's carelessness and frightfully short attention span. He could be easily led astray if he were to stumble across a shiny cufflink in the jungle or if he saw the fairies scatter from their den upon a dead Neverbird having been tossed into it. And it never once dawned on him the expanding lull betwixt his face-offs with Captain Hook, for as we have seen, he had no concept of time at all. Just as he had lost track of time amid visits to Wendy, he was happily oblivious to this occurrence. In fact, he had rather forgotten all about Wendy as well by now.  
  
(In case you are wondering, yes, Tinker Bell may very well have been aware of all of this. But it would scarcely behoove her to alert Peter to its progression, wouldn't it?)  
  
Life carried on more or less as usual aboard the ship. The crew rarely encountered the mysterious young lady recuperating in the captain's quarters. Only the Captain, the boatswain, and the surgeon saw to her directly, though the other pirates were oft handed tasks that related specifically to her, such as the washing and meals and the like. They complained little, as they were simply glad to have something else to do.  
  
Though the same could not completely be said for our faithful Mr. Smee, I'm afraid. He presently found himself at the whims of two masters. As well as tending to Wendy, he still retained his many boundless duties to the Captain. You can imagine that this would bear heavily upon the poor old chap, but he dared not protest. He was well-learned in the art of Pride Stifling, and so it was with a loyal stiff upper lip that he now carried two meal trays to the Captain's quarters instead of one. The platter with the handpicked English Rose atop it was for Wendy.  
  
At the very first yawn and stretch of every Daybreak, Smee stole in and out of the cabin quiet as a mouse, and a few short hours later, Wendy woke to find her breakfast fondly waiting for her on the little table next to bed. This was only a small consolation for not waking instead in Peter's charming little treehouse in the jungle, or even her own bed at home in London. But the pretty rose did manage to coax a smile or two.  
  
Wendy spent most of her waking periods in the bedchamber. Her wounded ankle was proceeding quite languidly in its effort to heal, and though Wendy might have possessed the patience of a saint, her own physical afflictions were causing her great ire. But none so great as the anxiety she felt in watching the seconds tick cruelly by with nary a glimpse of Peter.  
  
The monotony of Wendy's days were occasionally broken up by Smee, who would slip in every now and then and collect a personal affect of Hook's that he may be requiring. Hook himself popped in frequently to check upon his lovely means, as well as the Doc to examine her injuries. It was all very quaint and uneventful.  
  
"You really must come out from here sometime," Hook insisted benignly one morning whilst Wendy stood staring hopefully out the bedchamber window.  
  
Indeed, cabin fever was beginning to settle in, thus when Hook gently convinced Wendy to take some fresh air, she did not argue.  
  
'Twas on the scarce occasions that the elusive Wendy emerged from the cabin and sat unobtrusively upon the upper deck of the ship in one of Hook's chairs that the crew ever caught a glimpse of her. And it was during one of these rare appearances that Wendy was afforded some vague substantiation of Hook's credibility.  
  
Whilst Wendy was resting quietly in the cabin, the ship's crew had been working steadily attempting to replenish the provisions that had been plundered from their hold by Peter Pan and his Lost Boys. They had discovered and carved out yet another secret supply hold nearer to the ship so that it could be monitored more readily from the crow's nest. The crew labored tirelessly in obtaining goods with which to fill this new hold, none of these tactics being wholly honorable either. They looted every commune that they were able to infiltrate – they thieved from the fairies, the mermaids, and even the Indians – in order to restock their booty.  
  
Wendy sat in her chair and watched from above as the men gathered round and organized their hoard under Hook's implicit instructions atop the deck of the ship. She was utterly fascinated to witness the dashing pirate in action, barking out orders and managing every detail just so. A fleeting moment had once existed whence Wendy would have gladly joined this gang of rogues, but she was wiser now.  
  
In the course of her rapt observances, Wendy's eye was caught by a particular young buccaneer near the mizzenmast. He was plainly several years Hook's junior, and perhaps this accounted for his unmitigated brazenness in tossing Wendy several suggestive and bawdy glances. Not entirely unattractive he was, hence Wendy did not take great offense, but she did feel herself blush rather uncomfortably. None of this was lost on the keen Captain, and Wendy sat enthralled as she watched Hook casually stride toward the audacious lad, entangle his claw within his collar and effortlessly drag him across the ship and into the hold below. I daresay Wendy never saw that young man again.  
  
Hook rather thought he had made it explicitly clear to his dogs that if they so much as tilted an unseemly brow in his young guest's general direction, they would promptly be given a touch of the cat or worse. It was of the utmost vitality that Wendy perceive his ship as being her lone safe haven in Neverland. Hook was confident that he had as yet provided ample evidence of this. He doted on Wendy willingly and often – not too much as to make himself perfectly obvious, but just enough to elicit that warm and favorable look in Wendy's eyes for which he so craved. Though it was not altogether of his cynical nature to care for another human being, somehow he found it satisfying to do these things for Wendy. It must have been that appreciative look in her eyes.  
  
Sadly, though, still remained those lonely nights when the Captain, half- drunk with both rum and self-loathing, would creep into the bedchamber and watch miserably as Wendy slept as if not a single consideration for this callous world. Oh, how beautifully oblivious to it all she appeared. And with her caring eyes now shut tight, Hook could only gaze upon Wendy's loveliness with unfiltered disgust. For, you see, someone as Hook who harbors such darkness in his heart, beautiful things are not to be cherished but begrudged...and destroyed. And as Hook stood inebriated before his occupied bed, he painfully fought back the urge to take his iron claw and tear the girl to shreds – to make her as ugly on the outside as he felt on the inside. Perhaps then he would no longer feel so bloody unworthy in her presence.  
  
And yet, by some means, always would the sun rise the following morning, and Hook would find himself innocuously within his stateroom – his claw safe in a drawer and his breakfast waiting on the table. And when next he saw Wendy, his objectives were inspired anew.  
  
Wendy could plainly detect the impact she could have on the Captain from just the tiniest approving smile. Naturally, she used this vigorously to her advantage, for remember that she was using the Captain as well. Although she did indeed derive a touch of honest pleasure from seemingly being able to warm Hook's cold heart so readily. It was terribly flattering that this feared and depraved man could be tamed, if only for an instant, by the merest of gestures from Wendy. Even if it were all an act (and don't believe for a moment that she hadn't any suspicions), it was still terribly flattering.  
  
Wendy kept a brave front before her benefactors at all times. But the days soon grew longer, and thus did the likelihood of her rescue by Peter Pan. It became harder and harder for Wendy to uphold the charade. Once the Moon had risen and all had retired for the night, each one of her pretenses dissolved into the weariest of sobs. Every miserable slumber was preceded by weeping. She buried her face in the pillows to mute her cries, but one particular evening, she must have not buried it deep enough.  
  
In between sobs, Wendy heard a light rapping on her door, followed by the telltale sliver of candlelight unfold against the opposite wall. She stifled immediately.  
  
"Wendy," She heard the familiarly haunted voice. "Is all not well?"  
  
Wendy quickly wiped her eyes clear and turned toward him with a feeble smile. "No, no, all is quite well."  
  
"Dear girl, I can see plainly from whence I stand that it is not," he asserted firmly. "May I enter?"  
  
Wendy sat up in the bed, resigned to his inclination. "'Tis your ship, Captain."  
  
Hook stepped inside confidently, leaving the door ajar, and approached Wendy with an almost parental air. He gestured imploring toward the edge of the bed. Wendy nodded, and Hook sat down upon it, his extravagant dressing gown clashing starkly with the bedsheets.  
  
"I don't pretend to be ignorant of that which is the root your suffering, Wendy," he stated, his tone soft yet resolute. "I myself am quite well- acquainted with this particular cause."  
  
Wendy hung her head and let her smile fade. Indeed it was no longer of any use to hide her torment. The Captain would see right through her at once.  
  
"I must seem so foolish," she muttered.  
  
"Nonsense," Hook avowed. "'Tis Pan who is the fool – to be so callously neglectful of the very girl who once saved his life."  
  
He hadn't meant to vilify the boy so openly, at least not to Wendy. He swiftly recovered.  
  
"But you mustn't judge him too harshly, my dear," he added with benevolence. "He can't help who – or what – he is. New fancies come along and he quickly forgets old ones. But I am certain that if he were to lay eyes upon you once more, he would be just as delighted as if for the very first time!"  
  
"You really think so?" She had little hope any longer.  
  
"Positively! Before long, he shall come round the ship once more, looking for a battle, as always, and in its place he will find you. And what a most agreeable barter it shall be!"  
  
For the first time that evening, Wendy smiled for real. And hence deeming his duty properly fulfilled, Hook rose from the bed and proceeded to graciously tuck her back in – quite a bizarre sight, to be sure, for the old pirate captain to be tucking someone into bed!  
  
"And the surgeon tells me you are healing splendidly." Hook said it with the pride of a father whose child had made all aces. "In no time at all, I will be able to assist you into the forest for your jolly reunion with Pan. Wouldst thou like that?"  
  
Hook dangled Peter before Wendy's face like a delicious candy, and what was Wendy but really still just a mere girl. And she nodded eagerly.  
  
Hook gave her knee a paternal tap and then stood tall above her, grinning satisfactorily. "Now, settle in and relax, my hearty." He leaned forward a tad as something sprang to his mind. "Did you know I have been teaching Smee the harpsichord?"  
  
Wendy shook her head but was amused to hear more.  
  
"I am doing this so that I may enjoy a good melody myself. Who would have thought the old goat to have a single musical bone in his body, but as it turns out, I daresay he has at least three!"  
  
Wendy laughed a little.  
  
"If you like, I can have him play a little something for you, to help serenade you off into a more pleasant sleep than the one you would have had if I had not stepped in."  
  
"That would be lovely, thank you." Wendy was becoming ever astounded by the Captain's kindnesses toward her.  
  
"Wonderful," said Hook. "Then I shall bid you a bon nuit and take my leave."  
  
He half-bowed to her as he retreated to the door. Once he had slipped out, like a haunting breeze, Wendy lay alone once more with her thoughts. She was finding it ever so difficult to keep on doubting the Captain. Now, more than ever, she wanted to believe him. She wanted so very much for the generous attention which he lavished upon her to be real. How peculiar to look to Captain Hook as a source of comfort; a pillar of strength. But it was all she had. Hope was fast waning.  
  
Before Wendy's mind could recess to the gloomy thoughts having plagued her prior to Hook's visit, a rather choppy and amateurish interpretation of Rameau burst forth from the harpsichord outside. Poor devoted Smee must be at it, and the good intentions of his efforts brought the smile back to Wendy's face. And at long last was she able to drift off to sleep in thus more preferable fashion. 


	11. A TELLING OCCASION

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
WARNING: There is some graphic violence toward the end of this chapter, so those with tender tummies, take heed. Also, it's pretty long, so be sure to go potty before you start reading! ;-)  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...unless the spirit of J.M. Barrie comes back and possesses me (hmmm)...  
  
Here's Chapter XI .....More comments please, good or bad! :-)  
  
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XI. A TELLING OCCASION  
  
As I have mentioned once before, Captain Hook had the ability to exercise a tremendous amount of patience whence it alighted a good cause – and mind you, a "good" cause almost always translated to a "self-serving" one – but just as with all things, even this had its limitations. Thus when Wendy politely declined his offer to dine with him in his stateroom the next evening, it was all he could do to keep from politely excusing himself, scurrying below decks, and disemboweling one of his men just out of sheer aggravation.  
  
Of course, such an extreme reaction would not do at that juncture, but Hook could scarce mask his displeasure with the girl's hermit-like existence aboard his ship any longer. He had not kept her so that she may mope about, waiting in vain for a savoir that was not to come. He wanted to talk to her, to have enlightening conversations on poetry and philosophy. He wanted to teach her Latin and how to play his harpsichord. He would like, in turn, for Wendy to regale him with her fabulous adventure stories or impart to him all the latest and wonderful goings-on on the Mainland. There was ever so much more to be gained by her presence than merely the coveted location of Peter Pan's new hideout.  
  
But Hook had begun to fear that his time with the girl was growing short. Only the night before, he dreamt that his disingenuous words of comfort to Wendy had come to pass – that Pan had indeed infiltrated his ship with a fight on the tip of his sword, but upon discovering Wendy, he abandoned all interest in Hook and swiftly whisked the girl away, leaving the Captain both in failure of his scheme and without his aspiring companion...All "alone and done for" once again.  
  
"What would it take to bring you from out of this blasted room?" Hook asked Wendy as he hovered about the doorway, his ire barely contained.  
  
"You know this answer," was Wendy's solemn reply.  
  
"He is not coming, you foolish girl!" Hook wanted to shout. But luckily he chose a different tactic.  
  
"Dost thou find my company so offensive?" His voice hummed sorrowfully.  
  
Wendy turned to face him at once. "Oh dear, no! You mustn't think that."  
  
"Whatever else shall I think?" He took on the rendering of a wounded puppy, and it was most pathetic.  
  
Oh, hadn't Wendy about enough for which to feel terrible that now she must bear Hook's malaise as well? Perfectly evident this is to you or I, but alas, Wendy did not see it that way. As much a virtue was her compassion possibly her greatest hubris.  
  
Hook gave a mournful sigh. "But I understand. To think a refined young lady such as thee would lower herself to sharing a table with a tired old man as Hook...I doth flatter myself too greatly."  
  
Though Wendy sensed an exaggeration, she could not quite stomach being witness to it.  
  
"I'll have Smee clear away the extra setting," Hook continued woefully. "And I shan't bother you again."  
  
He turned slowly, his head hung, and moved to leave, but Wendy stepped forward.  
  
"Wait!" she blurted. Hook stopped, an expectant grin hidden from her. "Please...I'm sorry, I will dine with you, if you like."  
  
Hook spun around, his countenance severe. "I will not have your pity, girl."  
  
"'Tis not in pity that I say this," Wendy insisted, gulping uneasily. "I just...I see your contention. You are right, I have been quite selfish. I do not wish you to think me ungrateful."  
  
Hook allowed himself to soften. "No, I would not dream of it. And I would be honored if thou wouldst join me at the table this evening."  
  
An 'honor' it was to be, would it? Why, had the Captain mentioned this in the first place, Wendy might very well have accompanied him straight away!  
  
"Smee shall collect you whence supper is nigh."  
  
Smee did so shortly thereafter. Wendy had supped with the Captain just once previously, following her uneasy arousal, but the whole affair took place in the bedchamber and was flecked by thorny silences and Wendy's propensity to nod off now and again. Not quite the social fête Hook would have preferred.  
  
This evening was a creature of entirely another nature. With all the pomp of a Parisian sovereign, Hook had laid out before him a most magnificent setting. Wendy vividly recalled the grandeur of her very first meeting with the Captain years earlier, but the effort put forth presently appeared altogether so much extra accommodating.  
  
Ever the embodiment of gentility – faux or otherwise – the Captain showed his guest to her chair, settling her before the splendid feast. Surely there was far too much food for only two bellies! Boiled lobsters sat atop beds of dried seaweed; a colorful array of various fish species spread across the table like a rainbow; every sort of fresh fruit you could imagine – and even some you could not – spilled out of bejeweled bowls. At the table's centerpiece was a silver tray displaying a bouquet of sea urchins adorned with pearls, and around this were a dozen or so crab claws – Appropriately enough, they were all right-handed claws. For dessert, a wide variety of nuts and plantains drizzled with the honey harvested by the fairies themselves. (In truth, the food my not have been of the most appetizing quality, but the presentation more than made up for it.) And to wash it all down, Muscat and rum were available, both of which Wendy prudishly turned down in favor of a ruddy pitcher of spring water.  
  
"With a lemon rind, please," she requested of poor Smee with such a primness as to arouse an amused snicker under Hook's breath.  
  
The dining commenced rather quaintly. Eating was not a necessity in Neverland – only something to keep one occupied. And in this case, it was merely for show and socializing. Thus Wendy merely nitpicked at her portions, and the Captain himself seemed fairly more interested in dismembering his lobster with his hook than actually eating it. Small talk was engaged, anecdotes were exchanged, and it was all very formal and mannerly.  
  
Not until they were well into the meal did Wendy discover another subtle element of the place setting. As she reached for a pear, she noticed a small stack of antique books peering modestly from behind the fruit bowl. Moving the bowl aside, she saw that they were a volume of selected works from Thomas Campion, a textbook of medieval paintings, and a worn copy of Sophocles's Oedipus Rex written in Latin.  
  
Forgetting her etiquette entirely, Wendy wiped her hands on her napkin and reached for the art book. Hook said not a word and watched with silent consent as she thumbed through it. Most of the paintings, Wendy noted, were striking portraits of historical women, such as the Biblical Lilith and the shamed Godiva. Also there were queens and goddesses and sirens – all notorious yet revolutionary females who had left such defining marks on the world. Still more paintings depicted ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. Moving illustrations such as one titled simply "Adieu", of a man, lost at sea in a raging storm, Hell itself closing in around him, and in the middle of it all, a heartbreaking serenity as he kisses his dead lover for the last time. Wendy could not be sure, but she believed she did see a few tearstains dotting this piece.  
  
Soon Wendy came to a page that had been dog-eared. She could not have known at the time, but the denotation was fresh, as Hook had only made it that morning whilst perusing the text himself for Wendy's potential approval. In his inspections, he came across a painting called "Mariana in the South" by Waterhouse, and the girl within the portrait reminded him much of Wendy, with her fair porcelain-like skin and flowing tapestry of hair pouring down her back. He must have marked it unknowingly and hence forgotten it was still thus when Wendy happened upon it. Though she did not detect the resemblance to herself, she thought the girl quite stunning nevertheless.  
  
"A vision, is she not?" Hook remarked casually, hoping Wendy would catch on to the vicarious tribute.  
  
But alas: "Yes, quite. She reminds me of my mother when she was young." She fingered the folded corner of the page. "She must remind you of someone rather significant as well."  
  
Hook's eyebrows lurched a bit at the comment. "Only in that which she is willing to offer as anything of significance."  
  
Wendy was not at all sure what Hook meant by that, but she paid it little mind, and with special care, she closed the book and retrieved the copy of Oedipus. Skimming the delicate pages, she tittered sheepishly as she imparted to the Captain how she had learned of an Austrian doctor named Freud who recently applied the themes of Sophocles's play to a theory on human behavior.  
  
"He says," she explained with a dubious grin, "that, like Oedipus, all little boys want to kill their fathers and marry their mothers!" She put a hand to her mouth and giggled at such a lurid idea.  
  
Hook's face blanched in such a manner as if Wendy had just grown an extra head. "Surely, you are joshing!"  
  
Wendy shook her head. "He calls it 'the Oedipal Complex.'"  
  
Hook scoffed. "My dear, you mustn't pay heed to a man who clearly needs to reread his Greek drama. Oedipus did not WANT to marry his mother. He did so quite unwittingly. And he was none too pleased with the matter whence he discovered the truth, as I recall."  
  
"'Tis just a name," Wendy shrugged. "And just a theory. He says the same for girls too. That they want to replace their mothers and marry their fathers."  
  
"Poppycock," Hook huffed. "Do YOU want to marry your father, Wendy?"  
  
Wendy cringed. "Certainly not!"  
  
"So, there, you see? Utter rubbish. This doctor sounds like a right madman to me."  
  
"Rubbish or not, I think he is quite interesting," Wendy asserted, her tone decidedly belligerent.  
  
Oh dear, was she looking for an argument? Hook suddenly grew uneasy and supposed he should put a halt to the issue immediately. He forced a gentle smile.  
  
"If you say so, my dear. You must forgive me, as I am but a few years behind schedule when it comes to ideologies on the Mainland."  
  
This indeed appeased Wendy. Moreover she was impressed that the Captain had decided not to rise to her antagonism. Perhaps he was a nobler man than she gave him credit for.  
  
To further bring the mood back to a pleasantness, Hook ordered Smee to the harpsichord for a little melodic accompaniment. "The cuisine is so much finer to music," as he put it.  
  
Dutifully, though clearly unnerved, Smee put aside his Muscat and sat behind the instrument. He clumsily set his metronome and stared a moment through perspiration-fogged glasses at the sheet music before him.  
  
"'Tis a composition of my own," Hook proudly prefaced.  
  
Wendy readied herself for another morbid ditty about "frisky planks," but what actually radiated from the harpsichord was wholly unexpected. 'Twas a gentle and thoughtful little melody, with a playful cadence, that reminisced of a sort of "drawing-room" suite by the likes of Bach. Smee played admirably, though Hook's satisfied smile was for himself alone.  
  
Perhaps taken away by the sound of his own genius filling the stateroom, Hook rose from the table and stepped off to the side, offering his hand graciously to Wendy. She was fairly caught off guard by the gesture, and she hesitated in her response.  
  
"Thy ankle still a bother, m'dear?" Hook inquired, this being the only basis he could imagine for her wavering.  
  
"No," Wendy replied, and when she thought more of it, she decided she did not have a justifiable enough reason not to accept his invitation. And so, she rose to meet him.  
  
As the suite played on, Wendy placed her small hand upon his, the Captain's fingers wrapping around hers like the cilia of a Venus flytrap having just welcomed its fresh prey. But when his other arm came around Wendy's waist, she stiffened at once and clutched at his elbow.  
  
Hook knew not the cause for her disgruntlement, but he was quickly made aware when Wendy removed his clawed arm from about her waist and replaced it with the hand she held. She then placed her right hand upon his shoulder and tossed to his claw, which she had aloft at the side, a wary glance.  
  
"I would rather hold it whence I can plainly see it than have it sticking into my back," she curtly stated.  
  
Grinning, Hook raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You still do not trust me, do you?"  
  
Wendy replied with a hint of coyness as they began to blithely tread the floorboards: "One must never be too careful when in the company of a pirate named after his own weaponry."  
  
"It's fury thou shalt never have to fear. I swear it."  
  
"That, sir, I have also heard once before."  
  
"Tell me what I can do, Wendy," Hook avowed, twirling her gracefully, "Anything at all to prove to you that I mean you no harm."  
  
''Tis not your wrath that I fear, Captain," Wendy insisted. "'Tis your words."  
  
His hold on her waist intensified. "All I have in this world, Wendy darling, is my hook and my word."  
  
His blue eyes bore deeply into hers, begging her to accept their truth. She was no match for those eyes. How could she possibly doubt him?  
  
All at once the room seemed to shrink, and Wendy only vaguely noticed that she and the Captain had stopped moving altogether. Soon, the music faded away as well, and all that remained was the gentle ticking of the metronome. Or was that a heartbeat?  
  
Hook held her gaze with an iron grip, and now that he had it, what was he to do with this occasion? She sensed herself moving closer to him, towards those eyes. All the while the vague ticking continued. Hook's hand gently pressed her tighter against him. Without even noticing his approach, she suddenly found his face but inches from hers. And she never wavered. She could not.  
  
Now Wendy became aware that Hook removed his hand from her waist and brought it up near her face. He did not touch her right away – he only let it linger near her skin, but the heat emanating from his fingertips caressed her cheek all the same.  
  
He let his hand wrap around the back of her neck, and at his touch, she felt her eyelids go heavy in anticipation – of what, she was too hazy to deliberate. And then, Hook languidly lifted his chin and placed a single chaste kiss upon her forehead.  
  
No sooner had his lips separated from her skin than his hand fell away from her neck as well. He took a small step back and gave Wendy's wrist a polite squeeze. Wendy's eyes were now wide open, and, if I may hearsay, a bit disappointed.  
  
Nevertheless, she relaxed her countenance into an easy smile when she saw his.  
  
"You are quite deft on your feet, my hearty," Hook stated gaily. "Won't be too long at all before you are running circles round the island."  
  
His smile broadened and hers did as well. She hastily shook off any and all the silly inclinations she had just found herself seized by. How absurd of her...and cheap!  
  
Hook maintained his merry air as he moved to take his seat once more, interrupted only briefly when he caught Smee's eye along the way, the bosun having been watching the entire bizarre episode in silent captivation. Upon receiving Hook's bothered attention, Smee inelegantly remembered himself, grabbing for the metronome and halting its monotonous click-clicking. That sound dredged up some decidedly unwelcome memories for the old pirate – funny how he should just now take notice of it...  
  
Before either Hook or Wendy's backsides could reclaim their spaces at the supper table, just then came a rapid knocking at the cabin door. With a scowl, Hook motioned for Smee to answer the call, which he did, and into the room tentatively stepped a disheveled and perspiring crewmember, his cap wrung tightly between his hands.  
  
"Well?" Hook barked resentfully.  
  
"I'm sorry fer disturbin' ye supper, Cap'n," the visibly terrified pirate stammered, "but I thought ye'd like to know that the booty be all ready fer shippin' off 'n' stowin'."  
  
"How long for the boats to be loaded?" Hook inquired with eager eyes.  
  
"Done, sir!" the pirate replied with pride. "All we be waitin' on is yer word!"  
  
Hook took a step near the windows. "Perfect! The gracious cover of night shall be our armor." He turned back to the two gentlemen at the door. "Smee! Divvy up the men and ready my dinghy! We must have everything within the hold by daybreak!"  
  
As if suddenly Wendy no longer existed, Hook crossed to a rack to retrieve his best waistcoat and hat and strode briskly for the door. But his neglected guest stayed him soundly.  
  
"You are taking your hoard to shore?"  
  
Hook stopped and turned, his memory jogged. "Oh...yes, indeed. We shan't be gone too long, m'dear. The surgeon will look after you."  
  
Wendy stood quickly. "Oh, can I come?!"  
  
Again, the men stopped, and at least two of them had to restrain snickers.  
  
"Wendy darling, 'tis no venture for a young lady," Hook insisted, trying his best not to sound too condescending.  
  
"Oh please!" Wendy nearly shrieked, approaching them. "I shan't be a bother at all! I won't even come ashore, I'll just stay in the boat, I promise!"  
  
"Now, Wendy..."  
  
"Please, Captain! If I stay on this ship another moment, staring endlessly at the same walls and corners, I think I shall go completely mad!"  
  
I daresay it appeared as if Captain Hook was not the only one whose eyes were of a rash influence, for the pirate presently found himself restrained within the bounds of Wendy's overly keen countenance. How could he refuse? And if he did, how would she make him pay for it later? By retreating back into the bedchamber for all hours? Truly, there could be no harm in granting her this one fancy.  
  
Hook sighed. "Very well. You may ride with Smee and myself."  
  
Wendy might have jumped into the air at this, but her delicate ankle prevented it. Instead, she clasped her hands together gleefully and followed the men out onto the deck. The night was breezy and cloudless, perfect for a cozy night's sleep. But on board the Jolly Roger, the evening was just beginning.  
  
None of Hook's men gave Wendy more than a passing, disgruntled glance as she accompanied the Captain and bosun into the largest of the ship's dinghies, taking a place of prominence next to Hook at the stern while Smee and another burly pirate rowed.  
  
The tiny yet stacked convoy set out to shore with all the gravity and orderliness of a Greek war fleet. They had not very far to row and were upon their destination in minutes. They docked at a reef extending no more than ten yards from sea to shore, and here the men laid wooden planks across the irregular rocks as a level ramp for their imports and exports. Beyond the small patch of beach was a high wall of limestone and shrubbery, not terribly unlike their former hideaway which Peter had looted. And akin to the previous hold, the new one was within a cave upon a slight inline carved from the limestone.  
  
The men got to business straight away. Hook's boat was the last to dock and unload. The men rose to disembark, until Hook put a steady claw to the third pirate's beefy shoulder.  
  
"Perkins, you will remain here and keep watch over Red-Handed Jill," he instructed sternly.  
  
"Aw, but Cap'n...!" The brutish man began to protest, until he saw the cold steel pressing up against his throat.  
  
"Yes, Perkins?" Hook challenged.  
  
"That is to say...Aye, Captain," Perkins grumbled.  
  
"Good lad." Hook flashed a belittling grin, gave a mannerly nod to Wendy, then deboarded the boat.  
  
Not long thereafter, Hook and his men were but shadowy outlines bouncing about the walls of the cavern under the dim light of their handful of lanterns. Wendy quietly watched them in action, paying little mind to the large, snarling pirate sitting just across from her. They sat in an indignant silence for a long while.  
  
Finally, the gruff Perkins broke the hush. "I remember you from the first time, you know."  
  
"Oh?" came Wendy's disinterested reply.  
  
"Yeah, the Storyteller," Perkins recalled with as little impression. "So, why don't ya give us a story now, Storyteller?"  
  
She gave him a placating smile. "I'd rather not."  
  
"Oh, c'mon then!" Perkins began to snit. "This bloody silence is a straight pain in my arse!"  
  
Wendy lifted a prim nose. "I'll thank you not to use such language, sir."  
  
"Oh, bother!" Perkins sneered, kicking at an oar by his feet.  
  
Thus, the silence continued, and they both sat and observed the crew at work. And they both wished they could be involved.  
  
And it would seem as if at least Perkins had his wish granted, for in the coarse of their monitoring, he saw a fellow crewmember hauling a particular cumbersome heap of provisions unwittingly drop a sizable chunk from his bundle, not aware at all as it tumbled from the incline and onto the sand below. Perkins saw his chance immediately.  
  
"Right!" he declared, rising abruptly to his feet. "If you don't mind terribly, Your Highness, I'm gonna hafta step off for a moment and fetch them fallen goods."  
  
Wendy responded with an indifferent glare, quite happy to see the brute off. And off he was in record time, as if her displeasure itself hastened his journey. Good riddance!  
  
Presently alone with herself, Wendy took a relaxed breath. Most of Hook's men were submerged beneath the limestone caverns, so there remained little more to observe in that area. Thus she occupied herself with taking in the other sights of Neverland around her, which she had not laid eyes upon since the day she arrived with Peter. It seemed like eons ago to her now.  
  
O Peter. The sudden thought of him weighed heavily on her head, and it brought her eyes down to the sea, so still like a pane of glass. Wendy had never seen such a calm, and she leaned a bit over the side of the dinghy.  
  
As she suspected, she could see her reflection in the water as plainly as a mirror. And as with all mirrors, when mixed with a female visage, vanity quickly results. Wendy wrinkled her nose to see how tangled and unkempt her hair had become. She could even see the few cuts and scrapes on her face from her fall off the cliff. Once finished toiling with her hair, she brought her fingers to these wounds and leaned further toward the water for a closer inspection. They were healing well enough and weren't wholly unflattering. 'Twas the sickly pale blue her skin had taken on that proved more unbecoming. And were her eyes ever so yellow? Perhaps she was sicker than she thought, for even her cheeks seemed ever so much more sunken than she remembered. In fact, now that she looked, she did not resemble herself at all...  
  
That was when the scaly hand shot through the water's surface and clutched powerfully to Wendy's hair. Wendy gasped as she was violently lurched forward, but she was able to grab hold of the side of the boat to keep from going overboard. But now the other hand broke the surface and dug its talon- like nails into her arm. Wendy wanted to scream, but could not as the pain silenced her. And with her eyes now wide open, she saw plainly the serene face of her attacker, with just the tiniest of gentle smiles upon the creature's blue lips. This was perhaps most horrible of all, and it elicited the gut wrenching shriek that had been lingering in Wendy's throat.  
  
At once the cry reached the ears of those on shore. Captain Hook, who had been standing outside the cave directing his men, stopped cold and dropped his rapier at this frightful sound. He knew the source in an instant.  
  
"Wendy?!"  
  
He spun round and caught sight of the ghastly occurrence in the dinghy beyond. Without a second thought, Hook tore from the cliff, leaping from the incline and deftly upon his feet on the beach below. He sprinted as a black panther toward the makeshift dock.  
  
Wendy had one hand grasped around the mermaid's wrist – the wrist which inclined the creature's claws into her flesh. Wendy's knees were beginning to give way, as she could scarcely best her attacker's strength any longer. But before she could give in completely, she felt a heavy disturbance within the dinghy behind her, and suddenly, she saw a flash of steel swoop down and embed itself into the mermaid's arm, pinning it to the boat.  
  
The beast let loose such a shriek to easily put Wendy's to shame. Instinctively, the mermaid let her other hand, the one grasping Wendy's hair, fall away, but Captain Hook was to show no mercy. His eyes ablaze, he swung his sword mightily down to the mermaid's bound arm and cleanly severed it at the elbow. The sound come from her mouth in response to this was enough to rupture every eardrum on the island, but it was quickly muffled by the water as she sank back into the sea, one whole limb lighter.  
  
As soon as she had been liberated, Wendy clamored to the other side of the boat, breathless of fear and pain. Hook's eyes still burned long after the mermaid had vanished, and he unlatched his claw from the boat, the severed arm still dangling from the tip. He turned his attention back to the shore, where most of the other pirates had congregated to seek out the goings-on. Smee had come directly to the boat with a blanket, having recently been emptied of its goods, in tow. He took the Captain's place within the boat to offer the blanket to Wendy as Hook trudged back to the beach, his newly obtained trophy held aloft.  
  
His eyes washed furiously over his men as he made his way through them until, at last, he spotted poor Perkins, standing flush against the cliffside with knees trembling. Without a single break in his tread, Hook once again swung his rapier and carved a deep yet nonfatal gash down Perkins's chest. Perkins cried out and slumped to the ground at once, his blood trickling grotesquely onto the pure white sand beneath him.  
  
Hook set down his sword and fell to one knee before Perkins. He then removed the limb from his hook, and, with his claw now to Perkins's throat, viciously forced the severed side of the arm betwixt the defeated pirate's jaws. Perkins choked and gasped, bits of flesh and gooey black mermaid's blood sputtering from his mouth. The other men standing nearby turned their heads in disgust.  
  
"Taste it all, you filth!" Hook spat between clenched teeth, his whole person trembling with rage.  
  
When Perkins appeared to have had enough, Hook still bore down on him. Only when the man's eyes rolled over white did Hook toss the limb aside, reach for his rapier, and finish the brute off for good. No leniency whatsoever would be afforded to those responsible for Wendy's ordeal this night.  
  
Oh! Wendy!  
  
Perkins was quickly forgotten as Hook rose and rushed back to the dinghy where Smee was clumsily attempting to console the once more battered Wendy. Hook stood before the boat and watched as Wendy sat aft, sobbing wretchedly into her hands. Thankfully, she had not witnessed the carnage unleashed upon Perkins at the cliff.  
  
"Ship's company, to your boats!" Hook roared. "We shall carry on tomorrow!"  
  
"But, Cap'n!" Smee stuttered. "We are to abandon the whole operation?"  
  
"One of our own has been harmed," Hook asserted brusquely, stepping into the boat. "We must to the ship at once!"  
  
"All of us, Cap'n?" Smee pressed.  
  
"Yes!" Hook bellowed. He narrowed his eyes to the lot of them. "Foolhardy I was to believe I could trust ANY of you! I shan't make that mistake again!"  
  
Still the men hovered about, staring blankly at each other and at the neglected loot scattering the beach and beyond.  
  
"MOVE!!!" Hook roared.  
  
At once, all the pirates jumped to, swiftly gathering up all they could and piling it and themselves back into the boats.  
  
In the main dinghy, Hook took his seat next to Wendy. The blanket was askew upon her, so he adjusted it, draping it and his arm around her shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she cried uncontrollably. "I ruined everything!"  
  
"No, nonsense," Hook reassured her. "'Twas my fault entirely for leaving you in the care of that scug."  
  
He tried to embrace her, but she blanched at once. Leaning away and pulling back the blanket, Hook first saw the true extent of her trauma. Several deep gashes lined the length of her right arm, from shoulder to elbow. They would need attention immediately, and Hook instructed Smee to get a move on.  
  
The Captain covered Wendy once more and allowed her to lean against him as her sobs slowly ebbed. She clutched at the ruff of his shirt and cried softly into his chest. Hook soon realized he scarcely knew what to make of it all. How unblinkingly he had given up his whole vast mission – one that had severe bearing on all of their very well-beings – to tend to this girl. He had even killed one of his own men and maimed a mermaid as well. And for what? All this for Peter's whereabouts? But, oddly, he had not even thought of Peter Pan. Surely he had not grown concerned for Wendy outside of his Grand Scheme. No, he was far too practical and focused for such foolishness. The incident at dinner was entirely premeditated. Wasn't it? Yes, of course it was. After all, she was only achild. Forget not your objective, James Hook!  
  
As these meddlesome thoughts danced about Hook's brain, he was not wholly aware that his arm had come comfortably around Wendy, his hand gently holding her head to his breast, his fingertips softly caressing the back of her ear. She had since ceased in her crying, but he did not notice until she took a replenishing breath and let her hand release its hold upon his ruff and fall blithely onto his thigh. Hook sat immobile as he watched her hand grimly. Why, if it had fallen just a touch more to the right...  
  
'Twas then that Hook felt the third pair of eyes in that boat upon him. He glanced up to see Smee once more looking on in uncouth curiosity, and once met upon with Hook's attention, the bosun's expression brazenly turned to one of vague disapproval. But he soon cast his gaze away altogether at Hook's threatening scowl.  
  
Once more aboard the ship, Hook gathered the wounded Wendy into his arms and delivered her efficiently to the doctor in the infirmary. She lay on the cot as the Doc examined her, Hook standing by off to the side.  
  
"Aye, this'll need a good sewin'," Doc announced, and Wendy grimaced.  
  
Doc crossed to a cabinet and retrieved a large jug filled with a brown liquid.  
  
"What is that?" Wendy asked.  
  
"Brandy," Doc replied, "To dull the pain."  
  
"Oh, no, please, I want none of that ghastly stuff," Wendy insisted. "Haven't you anything else?"  
  
"Missy, we ain't in Paris here, ya know!" Doc snapped.  
  
Hook stepped forward menacingly. "She asked you a question, dear doctor."  
  
Doc gulped, having somehow overlooked the Captain's presence. "Erm, no, Miss. This is the best we can do for ye. Either way, I am gonna hafta put the needle to ye."  
  
Wendy's forehead creased into a deep concern, and knowing not what else to do, she looked to the Captain. He met her gaze promptly, and he saw the fright and helplessness in her eyes, the silent plea for a solution. Had she not been through enough this night? Instantly, he saw his chance. He approached and put his hand out to the girl.  
  
"Hold onto me, Wendy," he offered. "And as unbearable as the pain is, I want you to squeeze my hand just as hard."  
  
Taken instantly by this rare display of compassion, Wendy took hold of his hand tightly.  
  
"Now, now, he has not even begun yet. Leave yourself a little something to work up to," Hook said with a relaxed smile, bading her loosen her grip on his hand.  
  
Wendy closed her eyes as the Doc advanced with the ghastly needle, and whence it finally pierced her sore skin, Wendy cried out and clutched Hook's hand with such ferocity as to turn his knuckles white. But the Captain flinched not a whit, as he was thankful just to have this one hand with which to feel such pain. As if some human electrical conductor, Wendy sent her agony through her flesh and into Hook's, and he absorbed it all. He had felt pain in his long life far more dreadful than a little sewing needle, thus he was easily able to scoop up Wendy's distress and cast it off back into the universe, where it may someday play havoc with another poor soul.  
  
When Wendy finally did open her eyes, they settled at once upon Hook's, so soft and full of reassurance, of a true veracity she had as yet so doubted ever existed. Aye, she had never seen his eyes so, and it overwhelmed her to such an extent that she became numb to the pain in her arm. As a matter of fact, the needle, the Doc, and the whole room melted away around them, just as it had in the stateroom earlier. And, in spite of the pain-induced tears still flowing freely onto her cheeks, Wendy of a sudden found herself smiling. 


	12. WEIGHING THE ALBATROSS

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
NOTE: This chapter might seem a little un-PC to some, but please bear in mind that I am trying to stay true to the original style and era in which Barrie's novel was written, when ideals were much different than ours and people accepted stereotypes as facts. My intention is not to offend, so please don't take it thus! :-)  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...I don't take money from sick kids like Michael Eisner (heheheh)...  
  
Here's Chapter XII, a decidedly shorter one for a change! More comments please, good or bad! :-)  
  
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XII. WEIGHING THE ALBATROSS  
  
Did not this night seem unusually tranquil whence it met its end? Wendy thought so as she gazed out the bedchamber window from under her quilts. Not a leaf rustled, not a star winked, not a cloud breathed. One would scarcely be able to tell of all the mayhem which had occurred earlier.  
  
None except Wendy, whose arm throbbed under fresh stitches and ankle aggravated anew from her tussle with the mermaid. Though 'twas not these physical grievances which kept her awake. As she aimlessly twiddled betwixt her fingers the opal necklace still about her neck, her thoughts whirled round the man who had given it to her. A Man indeed. And how he behaved as though she was such a lady. Truth be told, Wendy had to finally admit to herself that she did enjoy it.  
  
Oh, the troublesome irony of it all – that she had come back to Neverland to escape the inevitable, to latch onto the last waning threads of her childhood, and all she had found was a cruel rejection from that which she sought and a startling acceptance from that which she was dodging. The question plaguing her now, above all else, was whether or not 'twas worth it to continue to struggle against it.  
  
And just what, pray tell, was she expecting to happen when the Captain held her still and close in his arms at dinner? This matter was almost too disconcerting for Wendy to even allow her mind to focus upon for one second. But the harder she tried, the more insistent it became, stampeding like a bull through all other thoughts and standing brazenly center stage, daring her to look away. She had come to regard Captain Hook as almost a surrogate father – at least, inasmuch as one could consider the jaded pirate thus. But recently she had caught herself stealing a spare glance or two in his direction, and scribbling a note only within her most private internal diary that he was actually quite handsome when he was not scowling or brooding about. He had an enchanting smile, though it typically appeared as if it brought his face great pain to produce one. Wendy thought this most piteous.  
  
But she could see his whole disposition alter at her presence. She knew it dangerous and rather pretentious to think that she, Silly Little Wendy Darling, possessed any sort of power over the mind-set of a man who had spent centuries wallowing comfortably in his own rage and despair. Yet, there it was. And with it came a new question: What on earth was that odd little tickle in her belly when she thought of this? And when she recalled once more the bizarre interlude at dinner, why did that tickle reach further down...?  
  
Wendy abruptly turned over on her side in the bed, her knees to her chest and her eyes shut tight. No, she would think these things no more tonight. In her head, she stood resolutely before the bull and told him to be on his way – she'd had quite enough of his mischief and would prefer to get some much-needed rest. The bull gave an inconvenienced huff but did as he was told, regressing back to the most shadowy corners of Wendy's mind for now. He did so only because he knew he would return before long.  
  
Wendy needn't do anymore worrying that night anyhow, for in the very next room sat a dark figure doing quite enough fretting for the both of them. His elbows upon the table, he rubbed his throbbing temples, his mind wrestling with all the same cursed thoughts as if he were trying in vain to steer a wayward brig. He was well aware his destination, and it was NOT the young girl in his bedchamber. How could he allow himself to veer so far off course? It mattered not how much he internally cried out for it to cease, for his mind was the one footsoldier whom he could not command.  
  
Aye, 'twas all becoming terribly out of hand. But he was too close to his objective to turn back now. He had proven to Wendy that she could trust him with her very life. Soon she would think nothing at all of divulging to him the location of Peter Pan's new hideout, and he would at long last be able to toast to his victory over the Boy.  
  
But what then? Hook was beginning to gravely question whether he would adhere to his original plan of keeping Wendy all to himself. All these wicked affections he had for the girl were threatening to only get worse. But with Pan rid of and his Mission accomplished, would it then be an issue? He could only imagine it would, for if this girl was capable of so heavily distracting him even from his interminable fixation on Peter Pan, he shuddered to think how far he would enslave himself to her wiles should Pan be of no concern any longer. Much would there need to be done whence Hook had liberated himself from the Neverland, and he would require a yogic focus with which to accomplish them. Perhaps his best bet would be to leave Wendy behind after all was said and done. Yes, this may be the only suitable solution. He naturally assumed that having Wendy out of sight would drive her effortlessly out of mind. Certainly, he would miss her company, but with his freedom from this infernal island would come a plethora of new opportunities for female companionship at his fingertips. Oh, to cavort with a buxom Italian maiden once again!  
  
All these contemplations were quite easy to weigh when Wendy was not within his immediate presence. But even so, only but a wall – one door – separated them presently. Hook need only take a single casual stride to reach it, open it, and then......what? How would his mind process the sight of the young beauty sleeping peacefully, already in HIS bed? What wretched messages would it send to the rest of his body as it mulled over her rose-kissed lips and skin – oh, that skin – so flawless as to make Aphrodite herself weep with envy? How should his hand start to twitch whence he gazed upon the gentle rising and lowering of her chest with every unruffled breath, the delicate nightdress she wore hugging every crook of her maturing body? Would his mind then whisper roguishly to his hand, "Go on..." and bid him approach the tempting figure, his arm aloft – nay, the left one this time – his hand hovering above her heart space, and then gently lowering it to...  
  
Hook stood with a start, nearly upending his chair behind him. No, no more of this! he pleaded with his head. Indeed, he had done some despicable things in his life, but none so debauched as to infatuate the body of an adolescent girl. He ought to be whipped! But he would settle for a spot of fresh air instead.  
  
Thus he dashed from the stifling stateroom and out onto the deck of his ship, taking in a healthy gulp of the briny draft. A handful of his men still milled near the mizzenmast, sorting out the remainder of the loot from their abandoned mission onshore. The Captain decided his pretense for his sudden appearance on deck was to assess their progress. He strode authoritatively past the men, scrutinizing them, until he was quite near the forecastle. He had only been gone from his cabin a few moments, but that was all the time they needed...  
  
Wendy was still only half-asleep when she felt the warm pressure pushing down over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, and in the darkness of the bedchamber she could only make out the dubious outline of a wiry man, two braids sprouting from his head and flanked by what appeared to be feathers. He was not alone. Two more figures lingered at his side, each of them bearing down on her. With the quickness and stealth of a cheetah, they had her bound and gagged soundly. And before the word 'Mohican' could form in her brain, she was carried off...  
  
As Wendy had, Captain Hook took notice of the queer stillness of the night. It was a most unsettling calm – like one preceding a dreadful storm. Though it was not the weather which sent an uneasiness through Hook's bones. As his blue eyes swept over every corner of the fo'c's'le before him, he sensed something wholly sinister lurking. He could detect all things of a wicked nature, as wickedness was his chief milieu. And it was all about him now.  
  
With one hand to his cutlass, Hook continued to inch toward the stern, his every sense heightened like that of a wolf on the hunt. His men on deck became aware of his graveness and ceased their work, watching him carefully and silently preparing for what their Captain might find.  
  
Hook's stride was stayed when his keen eye settled upon the railing at the stern. Several ropes in various split knots and bowlines were attached, as per usual, but there were at least three he could see that did not belong to his ship, and they hung limply overboard. But wait – no, they were not limp. They were quite taut, as if being pulled on from below, and they quivered subtly under the unknown weight.  
  
Hook furtively drew his cutlass as the ropes grew tighter and leaned further from the frame of the ship. Whence they saw this, the men on deck scrambled to their feet, and one of them scurried below decks.  
  
Hook moved to take a step closer, and at that moment, no less than five bronzed and painted bodies soared over the railing and onto the deck before him, whooping up a small proclamation of their advent.  
  
Redskins, Hook growled to himself, holding his sword and claw aloft.  
  
The five dashing warriors stood in a semi-circle with their arms folded and feet spread apart, exuding an intimidation no other race of being could under the same such motionless stance. The brave at center spoke first.  
  
"You have wares which belong to us, Captain Hook." He spoke the English well, though with little enthusiasm, as if loathing that he had to.  
  
"To the contrary, my noble Savage, I believe they belong to me now," Hook hissed.  
  
"We not leave this boat until you give it back."  
  
Hook's lips formed to a smug smirk. Who was this lad trying to kid? Five deficiently-armed Indians against an entire crew of pirates with pistols and cannons?  
  
But then, it struck Hook like lightening.  
  
His men, seemingly every last able-bodied one of them, were suddenly encroaching the fo'c's'le behind their venerable Captain, swords drawn. Hook turned to them abruptly, his face awash in panic.  
  
"NO! ALL OF YOU! STOP!"  
  
But it was too late. The five warriors sent out a battle cry which was instantly answered by nearly a hundred more all about the ship, and in a flash of feathers and war paint, the Jolly Roger was completely infiltrated with Indians from all sides. With Hook and his entire crew cleverly distracted by the braves at the stern, the rest of the tribesmen easily overtook the ship to reclaim their stolen property piled unguarded on deck.  
  
The pirates charged on them at once, though 'twas quite already a lost cause, thus they prudently focused on driving the Indians from off their ship. As for Hook, he spun back round to face the five decoys, but alas, they were gone! A subtle rage began to swell in Hook's gut whilst he stood upon the fo'c's'le and observed the chaos below. But amid all this disorder, Hook's attention was drawn to an unremarkable but no less harrowing sight – on the other end of the ship, he saw his cabin door completely agape...when he was certain he had closed it. His heart leapt into his throat.  
  
Racing down the stairs off the stern, Hook stormed head-on into the melee on deck; dodging swords, arrows, and flailing bodies, to make his way to his quarters. He charged inside and beelined toward his bedchamber, where he flung open the door and bellowed:  
  
"Wendy!"  
  
But she was not in the bed where he had left her. In her stead, a small hatchet protruded from the headboard. Hook felt dizzy with fury and offense. Though there were no signs of a struggle or bloodshed, foolish is the pirate who would dare underestimate a Redskin.  
  
Staggering back to the door of his stateroom, the Captain saw that the Indians were gone, and his men milled confoundedly about in the aftermath of battle. Hook's faithful bosun was the lone one of them to step forward.  
  
"Cap'n! They got our boats! Every last one of 'em!"  
  
Hook gnashed his teeth and approached the beleaguered deck. He stood at the nucleus of his crew, looking all about him at the smears of blood on the floorboards and meager scraps of provisions which the Indians had carelessly left behind. Hook stroked his claw, taking stock of what had occurred and what he intended to do in response. His men eagerly awaited his instruction.  
  
"All hands, gather round!" Hook hollered.  
  
The pirates dutifully closed in on him to listen. At once he began doling out orders for the new mission to take place that night. And as he spoke, only one single thought surged through his mind:  
  
They have taken Wendy from me! 


	13. AMBIVALENT CONTEMPLATIONS

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
NOTE: Some more Indian stuff here...forgive any apparent crassness that may occur.  
  
ALSO: For any of you 'faithful' readers out there, a fair warning that it may be a little while before my next chapter is up, as it looks to be a doozy...so please be patient! :-)  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...and neither does Disney!  
  
Here's Chapter XIII.... More comments please, good or bad! :-)  
  
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XIII. AMBIVALENT CONTEMPLATIONS  
  
A small fire blazed at Wendy's feet, and she was thankful for it. Only the flimsy and tattered nightdress she wore stood between her and the chilly Neverland night. She was dreadfully tired, but even as she sat upon the bough inside the large wigwam, she could not quite allow herself to drift off. Something decisive was astir, she was sure of it.  
  
Only one Indian brave stood guard over Wendy with a lone spear in hand, for the rest of the tribe had taken notice of her injury. This would most assuredly stay any attempts at an escape. After all, she was just but a little paleface girl – how far could she possibly expect to get? (Silly Indians knew not Wendy Darling as we do...)  
  
After what seemed an eternity of waiting about, the deerskin and mesh flap over the entrance of the hut parted, and inside stepped a most happily familiar face – none other than the Princess Tiger Lily. Wendy was quite relieved, and she met the younger girl's arrival with a smile.  
  
But Tiger Lily did not return the gesture. "Aquai, Wendy-Lady," she huffed, her arms folded cautiously. "Why are you come back here?"  
  
Wendy's merry countenance diminished. "I...well, Peter brought me back..."  
  
"Peter no bring you back!" Tiger Lily snapped.  
  
"He most certainly did!" Wendy retorted despite her mounting ill ease.  
  
"One of you lie," the Princess said. "We find out who."  
  
And with that, she moved to leave, but before she did so, she turned once more to Wendy with a decidedly tentative expression.  
  
"Wendy-Lady...do you, uhm...are you bring your brothers here too?"  
  
"My brothers? No, Princess, they are not with me."  
  
"Ah," Tiger Lily blurted, regaining her regality. "Of course." And she slipped out of the wigwam, leaving Wendy most befuddled – she had quite forgotten her brother John's brief affections with the warrior princess.  
  
And those memories would have to wait another day to be rediscovered, for Wendy's full attention was quickly seized up by the next figure to breach the wigwam. Her mouth fell completely agape and her heart leapt into her throat when there she saw Peter Pan standing once more before her.  
  
"Peter!" she squealed.  
  
"Wendy," Peter responded quietly, looking terribly agitated and confused.  
  
They remained in an awkward calm for quite a few moments until Wendy suddenly felt her face become severe, and she heard herself blurt out:  
  
"Where have you been?!"  
  
Peter was visibly taken aback by the outburst, and indeed Wendy herself had not counted on these being the very first words she would speak to Peter upon seeing him again. Yet, there they were, and they could not be retracted now.  
  
Peter's brow furrowed. "What do you mean 'where have I been'?!"  
  
"I have been waiting weeks for you to come for me!"  
  
"'Come for you'?" Peter was impossibly lost now. "Come for you where?"  
  
"The Jolly Roger! I have been waiting and waiting ever since you left me on that rock!"  
  
Peter became ashen. He had completely forgotten the whole incident, until now. "Have you still been here this whole time?" Granted, Peter was a horrible judge of time, but even he could discern that some amount of it had passed since the episode on the cliff.  
  
"Of course I have!" Wendy was growing desperately discouraged. "Why didn't you come for me?"  
  
"Wendy, I thought you had gone back home!" Peter was admittedly relieved to have a valid explanation for her grievance.  
  
"What? Why would you have thought that?"  
  
"The mermaids told me so!"  
  
"The mermaids!" Wendy stalled in her tracks at hearing this. She could not very well argue with what the mermaids had said. But why would they have said it? No matter – 'twas not the mermaids who were Wendy's concern here.  
  
"So, that's it then?" she spat out, weeks of frustration and longing bubbling to the surface. "The mermaids told you I had gone, and that was it? You took it as oath and did nothing more to find out for sure?"  
  
Peter set his hands on his hips impudently. "Why would they lie?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know!" Wendy rather felt like throwing something breakable. "Why does ANYONE do ANYTHING in Neverland? Perhaps they are jealous of me like that impertinent little pixie of yours!"  
  
Peter took a heavy step backward as if he had just been shot. "You shouldn't say such things, Wendy."  
  
Wendy drew her lips together tightly, becoming quite ashamed at her very unladylike snits. "I'm sorry, Peter, I did not mean it like that..."  
  
At her apology, Peter relaxed his stance. Then he quickly recalled something she had said just moments before, and he approached, crouching down before her at the edge of the bough.  
  
"Did you say you have been on the Jolly Roger all this time?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He glanced over her various wounds. "Hook has been holding you captive!"  
  
"No!" Wendy set him straight quickly. "In fact, Peter, he has taken quite good care of me. I would not be alive if it weren't for him."  
  
Peter scoffed at once. "Captain Hook? Take care of you? Nonsense."  
  
"'Tis the truth. If he had not found me on that rock, I'd certainly be dead, Peter."  
  
The Boy felt himself grow fairly defensive. He caught Wendy's drift perfectly – that he was, once more, somehow inadequate to Captain Hook. He rose to his feet abruptly.  
  
"I did come back to look for you after I found Tink, but you weren't there! So, I asked the mermaids, and they told me you left! What more do you want me to say? What more could I have done?"  
  
Wendy's eyes began to well up. "How could you have left me in the first place, Peter? Why did you..." But her voice was trapped in her throat.  
  
Peter so hated seeing Wendy cry. He believed there was not a more vile sight. Every tear from her eye screamed for him to speak plainly for once. And he was not immune to it.  
  
"Look, Wendy," He spoke softly, his eyes cast resentfully away from hers, "I could not have saved you from that cliff."  
  
Wendy blinked up at him.  
  
"And even if I had known you were on the pirate ship, I could not have saved you from that either."  
  
"Peter..." Wendy sniffed.  
  
He turned to her once again. "I can't save you anymore, Wendy."  
  
A sickening knot turned in Wendy's stomach. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
Peter was too young and careless to know quite how to explain it to her, and his frustration at even his own lack of understanding threw him into a minor fit. He tossed his arms up into the air.  
  
"What would others think of me? How could the Lost Boys continue to look to me as their leader? I have to have a certain standing with them, you know?"  
  
Wendy could not quite believe her ears. What was he riling about?  
  
"And, well," he continued pompously. "How would it look to them and all other children if Peter Pan went around saving grown-ups?!"  
  
Wendy drew in a heavy breath and said through gritted teeth: "Peter. Once and for all, I am NOT – "  
  
"– Not a grown-up, yes, so you keep saying," Peter dismissed. "But do you know what?" He leaned in dauntingly close to her. "I think it is your 'biggest pretend'."  
  
Wendy went thunderstruck upon hearing the words she once spoke to him thrown back in her face so cruelly. She was too shocked to cry or do anything at all except stare into his heartless eyes. How utterly malicious. How so very...well, CHILDISH. Could this truly be the same boy upon whom Wendy had bestowed her special Kiss just a few years before?  
  
Just then, the horrible tension was mercifully broken by a small uproar outside the wigwam, and Tiger Lily came charging back inside.  
  
"Peter!" she wailed. "The pirates are come!"  
  
Peter rose to his feet and reached for his dagger, but Tiger Lily put her hand to his arm.  
  
"No. This between us and them. You go, quick!"  
  
"But...!"  
  
"Go, NOW, Peter!"  
  
Peter huffed, disappointed. The Princess began nudging him toward the door, but he resisted just enough to address Wendy one last time.  
  
"Wendy, go home! You don't belong here! You must leave, for GOOD this time!"  
  
"Peter!" Wendy grappled to her feet, wanting to commune with him further, but in a flash, he was gone, once more leaving her to fend for herself. How could he dismiss her so easily? But what Wendy did not realize, sadly, was that these words he had just spoken to her was the last way of which he knew how to save her. He was well aware what lay in store for her – in store from them ALL – if she did not get away from Captain Hook at once. But she could not see this. All she saw was the boy she once loved turn his back on her yet again.  
  
In light of these recent events, we could not wholly condemn poor Wendy if she had decided right then to throw herself into a tearful collapse upon the bough and remain there for eternity. But this was not Wendy's inclination. Adrenaline coursed through her veins like molten lava, and all she could think to do was claw her way out of the Indian encampment and back to the one place where she knew she would be welcomed – the Jolly Roger.  
  
Oh, and wouldn't THAT just show Peter Pan a thing or two as well! Just who was he to order her about anyhow? As if she NEEDED rescuing like some absurd damsel in distress! Was she not the notorious Red-Handed Jill?  
  
Wendy took an inattentive step forward, but when she did, the guard at the door did so as well. Under normal circumstances (or what may pass for "normal" in Neverland), Wendy might have opted to reason with the brave, but she had no such interest in this approach now. So instead, she reached down to snatch up a couple burning logs from the fire at her feet and began lobbing them furiously at the Indian, paying no heed whatever to how it burned her delicate hands, for her skin burned enough on its own in anger and frustration.  
  
The guard was soon quite overcome not just with fire and wood but with shock as to this ostensibly meek girl's sudden ferocity, and he was driven far enough from the door of the wigwam that Wendy could make her escape. But she was sure to seize the felled guard's spear on her way.  
  
When she emerged outside, she could scarcely discern that daybreak was upon the island through the thick fog of gunpowder from the approaching pirates' warning shots. The Indians took their battle stance, arrows and tomahawks at the ready, as the raucous bunch of buccaneers encroached their camp.  
  
"WAIT!" Wendy bellowed from the top of her lungs. She began to flail her arms about, limping vaguely toward the pirates still wielding their weapons. "Don't! Please! I will come willingly!"  
  
She was now standing at the heart of the imminent battleground, and straight away Tiger Lily stepped forward.  
  
"No! You not go! You are captive!"  
  
Wendy spun around on her good ankle, the spear in her hands brandished threateningly at the Indian princess. "I shall go with the pirates, Your Highness. You may fight if you like, but you will not do so at my expense."  
  
Tiger Lily furnished a great scowl, one befitting of a girl her age, and took a begrudging step back toward her people. For their part, the pirates had ceased their advance once Wendy had come into sight, and they stood their ground whilst she hobbled toward them, her spear remaining at hand. Having finally reached them, Smee stepped forward and escorted the young lady out of harm's way, the rest of the crewmen enveloping around them as they made their way safely back to the boats which the pirates had reclaimed.  
  
To Wendy's surprise, the pirates almost at once withdrew their weapons and started to follow she and the bosun back to the boat.  
  
"They are retreating!" she said aloud.  
  
"Aye," Smee affirmed.  
  
"They are not to do battle?"  
  
"Not this night, miss. So says the Captain."  
  
"The Captain," Wendy murmured, scanning the bustle of oncoming pirates. "Where is Captain Hook?"  
  
Smee settled himself into the dinghy. "'E broke off from us once we came ashore. Said we was to go get you whilst he tended to 'private matters'. I'm supposin' 'e meant to go retrieve the loot 'imself."  
  
Perhaps so. Wendy had a little time to mull it over as the pirates returned to their boats and congregated jovially.  
  
"Ah, there 'e is now, I reckon," Smee announced for the benefit of Wendy.  
  
Indeed, as Wendy turned her attention toward Smee's gaze, she saw the sinister figure of the man emerge from the shadows of the camp, attired in his very best finery – as was his preference for battle – and striding toward them quite unceremoniously. Wendy saw him sheath his cutlass, and she noticed something suspending from his claw – something that left a dark, gooey trail behind it as the Captain walked. Hook wore, in addition to his elaborate wide-brimmed hat, a rather grim expression, but one that also bore a hint of smug self-satisfaction. The latter only intensified whence he laid eyes upon Wendy sitting securely in his dinghy.  
  
The girl sat quiet as the Captain approached, looking over his men with broad approval. In turn, the other pirates were quick to inquire about the messy item dangling from his hook, and the Captain was only too happy to hold it aloft for all to see.  
  
"Quite a lamentable lot of loose lips in this tribe," Hook recited gauchely, much to the boisterous delight of his dogs.  
  
'Twas then that Wendy realized he was parading the freshly shorn scalp of an Indian. She was quite sure it had belonged to the warrior who seized her from Hook's cabin.  
  
When Hook's eyes once more fixed on Wendy, they were greeted by a frightful disgust. And lo how the pirate captain suddenly felt ashamed! Thus his arrogance swiftly fell flat. Smee removed his hat and let Hook drop the scalp inside for safekeeping until it could be properly treated and made into a fine trophy of the Captain's victory.  
  
Hook proceeded into his boat with a degree of ill ease at Wendy's icy stare. Somehow, he had managed to save her AND displease her all at once! How was he to regain her esteem now?  
  
As the Captain prepared to take his seat next to the mum girl, the bald, wiry pirate at the oars addressed him:  
  
"But Cap'n? What about the treasure? Where is it?"  
  
Hook sat, cleaning his claw with a handkerchief. "'Treasure', Mr. Flanigan?" He grinned. "I believe thou art sitting directly across from it."  
  
All eyes shifted to Wendy, including Hook's, who looked upon the girl with both pride and hope. But Wendy's eyes only became colder. Had he just likened her to a plunder? Once more, Hook saw his attempts at flattery fall dejectedly to pieces.  
  
Wendy turned away as Hook continued to wipe the sticky red clumps from his claw. Her stomach recoiled at the sight, though she had already found herself in quite a disgruntled state since she left the camp. I needn't reiterate why. And the evident sight of Captain Hook's gruesome malice but inches from her only exacerbated her condition. But truly, no amount of blood or butchery could match the carnage which she felt had been inflicted upon her that night from Peter Pan.  
  
The pirate convoy rowed back to the Jolly Roger with no impediment and with nary a word exchanged aboard the Captain's dinghy. Of course Hook could not have really expected Wendy to throw herself into his arms with gratitude upon her retrieval from the Indians, but surely a simple Thank You was not too great a request! He'd gone to much trouble and taken in many a pining breath at her brief absence for her to behave so blinking sourly toward him now. But somehow, Hook was able to talk himself into letting it be. Perhaps the Indians had said or done something harmful to her whilst in their captivity. She would be back to her sweet, maddeningly evasive self in no time. This was Hook's great hope.  
  
As was becoming quite the ritual, Wendy's return to the pirate ship saw her at once to the infirmary for the Doc's examination. He redressed her troublesome ankle in a clean bandage, applied a smelly ointment to the stitches on her arm, and dipped her scalded hands into a bucket of cold water.  
  
"Ain't a patch on ye left fer bruisin' I reckon!" was Doc's feeble attempt at levity.  
  
Indeed, Wendy was beginning to feel like Frankenstein's Monster. She said nothing and returned quietly to the Captain's quarters.  
  
She passed Hook along the way as he supervised the reclamation of his boats on deck. He anxiously stood at attention at once to her presence and tried to catch her eye, but she kept her gaze to the ground as she walked on and disappeared into his cabin. A tiny finger tapped at Hook's mind, unobtrusively at first, but it soon grew most insistent. It adamantly urged Hook to go to the girl, to seek out the cause for her malaise and promise to do all he could to right it for her. And, such a slave Captain Hook was to the tendencies of his own mind, he could do nothing but comply.  
  
Hook found Wendy within the bedchamber, sitting on the edge of the bed. A weariness clung to her like a parasite.  
  
"What is it, Wendy?" Hook asked it rather more stoutly that he had intended. "Did the Redskins harm you in some way?"  
  
"No," came the muted reply.  
  
Hook bit at the corner of his lip cautiously. "Was it...because of that warrior...?"  
  
Wendy shook her head. "No." Then she looked at him sternly. "Although it was wholly unnecessary of you!"  
  
"'Twas merely retribution," Hook said matter-of-factly. "He took something which was precious to me, so I took something which was precious to him."  
  
"Yes, 'tis all so simple as that!" Wendy spat, rising from the bed. "I am just some pretty little bauble for everyone to toss about this blasted island with not a care as to what I may have to say on the matter!"  
  
"Not in the least have I ever regarded you so!" Hook bellowed defensively, only partly lying. "And you would be wise not to question my dealings which don't concern you!"  
  
"I should say it certainly concerns me! You MUTILATED a man at my cause! Thus I believe I have every right to take issue with the way in which you carry out your foul 'dealings', Captain!"  
  
"My darling Wendy," Hook hissed, his patience vanishing rapidly. "You are in the company of PIRATES. I think you are often too quick to forget this."  
  
Wendy tried to remain firm and stay her tears, though it took all she had left. "I have been a part of this ship for some time now, and as such, I believe I am permitted my equal say in the company's doctrines."  
  
Hook's jaw hung somewhat agape at Wendy's audacity, though part of him was rather amused and, dare I say, excited by it. "Oh, you do, do you? Well, in that case, allow me to acquaint our Red-Handed Jill with the 'doctrines' of piracy."  
  
He began to advance on Wendy, but she stood her ground.  
  
"We have but one simple philosophy, my dear," Hook conveyed with oozing intimidation as he approached.  
  
He held his claw aloft to her. "One: You want it. Two:..."  
  
He suddenly took her tight in his arms. "You take it! And Three:..."  
  
He pressed his claw to her throat. "Then you've got it."  
  
Wendy froze immediately, every inch of her alerted to his actions, and feeling only his breath but not her own. Abandoned now by his own rationale, Hook began to incline his face deliberately toward hers, with one and only one destination on his uncaged mind. And Wendy found she no longer had any choice.  
  
"I saw Peter," she blurted quickly.  
  
Indeed, as expected, Hook stopped dead in his tracks, his half-closed eyes now fully open and his head erect once more.  
  
"You what?" he stammered.  
  
"That is what has been vexing me," she explained hopefully, still rigid in his grasp. "He came to me at the Indian camp."  
  
'Twas as if someone had just doused Hook with ice-cold water. He released Wendy and took a step back. "You...saw him?"  
  
Wendy nodded solemnly, the dreadful memory of the confrontation sinking her disposition once more.  
  
"What did he do?" Hook practically demanded, his brow creased sharply.  
  
With steadily moistening eyes, Wendy shook her head. "He 'did' nothing. We only spoke briefly."  
  
At once both concerned and morbidly curious, Hook progressed to her again. "What did he say to you, Wendy?"  
  
She took an inordinate amount of time deliberating whether she should divulge anything further to the Captain, but ultimately she so needed to bear her burden aloud.  
  
"He...he told me to go home," she said tearfully. "He said I do not belong here, and that..." She turned her back to Hook and directed her testimony to the wall. "He says that he will no longer save me...That he has some sort of silly 'reputation' he must uphold."  
  
Hook saw Wendy's shoulders lurch slightly, and he knew she was crying. Of course, he had found himself in this situation before – watching Wendy weep for that insolent boy, but this was a scene of graver consequence. The previous occasion was simply the transitory result of a childish squabble, to be quickly forgotten by morning's first light. What Hook witnessed presently was unbridled heartbreak – a perfect abandonment. And it turned even Hook's black heart pink with a breathing compassion. 'Twas also his opportunity knocking soundly.  
  
"Pan is a fool, Wendy," he avowed. "You mustn't pay heed to him nor waste a single more tear at his expense."  
  
Wendy only shook her head and sadly leaned forward against the wall. Her sobs flowed freely now.  
  
They both recognized what was currently afoot, that Wendy had regrettably devolved to the precise spot where Hook had first found her. It was true that he had her precisely where he wanted – good and fed-up with Peter Pan – but he had not counted on such desolation to befall her once the sentiment was achieved. She was desperately on the brink of completely shutting down all over again. Was Hook really to relive the past few weeks, to painstakingly cater to the girl's needs and win her trust and confidence anew? No, his patience had been stretched to the limit. He had few cards left to play, and he was damned tired of pretending. Even when the Boy was not at hand, oh how he still managed to destroy everything!  
  
"He is of no use to you, my dear," Hook continued fervently, nearing the wall to her. "He cannot possibly ever provide you with all the things which you require and so deeply deserve."  
  
As gently as he could, the Captain reached out and turned Wendy to face him, her wet eyes and tear-stained cheeks shredding his superego to bits.  
  
"He knows not how to love, how to care, how to ache and yearn for those things which he has forever barred himself. He could never be a comfort to you, my darling."  
  
He placed his hand and hook against the wall on either side of Wendy's shoulders. His voice began to tremble as his id consumed him completely. "But I can comfort you, Wendy. Please, just let me comfort you..."  
  
His words had barely touched the morning air when suddenly Hook leaned forward and pressed his lips hard against Wendy's, nearly sending the back of her head through the wall. It was so fierce with longing and succor, but Wendy's thoughts were far too encased with Peter Pan, and all she could think of, I must humbly report, was when last her lips had touched another's... Hook was quick to be painfully aware of this himself whence he felt the melancholy caress of Wendy's freshest tears puddle against his own cheek.  
  
He pulled himself away and stared down at the girl, her head now hanging pitifully between her shoulders, and he fast became incensed at this sight, of the fair and beautiful Wendy reduced to such wretchedness.  
  
"This time," Hook snarled, "the Boy goes too far."  
  
He tore himself away from the wall and charged out of the bedchamber with such a portentous gait that Wendy felt compelled to follow. From the doorway she saw Hook snatch up a lantern from a notch beside the main entrance of the cabin.  
  
"Please!" she exclaimed hurriedly, and he stalled. "Please don't harm him, Captain."  
  
With a sardonic snort, Hook retrieved his hat and placed it grandly atop his head. "Dear girl...'Tis my whole raison d'être."  
  
His jaw tightened bitterly, Hook stole from the cabin. Wendy tried to scurry after him, but she was promptly intercepted by Smee.  
  
"You best stay put, miss," he instructed.  
  
"Oh, but he is going to do something awful, I know it!" Wendy insisted.  
  
"Now, now, 'e won't get very far, I can assure ye."  
  
"How can you be so certain?"  
  
"Jus take me word fer it. 'E'll return afore long with nary a spec o' blood on his sword."  
  
Smee knew this because he knew something further which Wendy did not – that Hook really had no idea as to the location of Peter's hideout. But he would most steadfastly keep this to himself.  
  
Wendy retreated into the cabin, the back of her hand aimlessly drifting to her assailed mouth. No, Captain Hook could not possibly do something detrimental to Peter. If he truly meant all the words he had offered to her – if the little flame lingering upon her lips had any veracity whatsoever – the pirate would suspend his fury for the Boy. But as Wendy told Hook himself only the evening before, one could never take a pirate too lightly...most especially a pirate who could so flippantly maim a mermaid or an Indian before her very eyes.  
  
Beyond the security of the captain's quarters, morning glistened amicably all about the island. And somewhere amongst Neverland's everlasting sparkle, a dreary man was skulking about the deepest pits of the jungle, searching as ever for an impossible reckoning. Wendy stayed close to the cabin window and kept her eyes fixed upon the sky, for if Captain Hook were to at last have his triumph over Peter Pan, the Heavens would soon proclaim it so. 


	14. TIME TO GROW UP

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
!!BIG MEGA-WARNING!!: If any of y'all have been wondering why this fic is rated 'R' (or what this "next great adventure" of Wendy's specifically entails), this is precisely it. In fact, I'm gonna just jump right into an NC-17 rating on this chapter alone. Things get MIGHTILY heavy from here on out, so if you are not of a proper maturity level or are inordinately sensitive to more Adult material, I advise an aversion of the eyes! I am aware I will probably lose a sizable chunk of my 'regular' readers after this, but hopefully most of you will see what I am trying to convey here and stick around nonetheless, for this certainly serves a purpose. Also, this chapter is QUITE long. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...My apologies to Mr. Barrie for what I am about to put his beloved characters through. :-P  
  
So, with that, here's Chapter XIV .....Bring on the deluge!!! ;-)  
  
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XIV. TIME TO GROW UP  
  
Well after daylight had fallen into its repose did the Jolly Roger finally reclaim its captain. He was a man tormented, having spent many futile hours in the forests of Neverland hunting, though for what exactly becoming less and less clear to him.  
  
He must have strolled the perimeter of the whole island twenty times that day. In fact, he had, at more then one point, found himself among the dark thicket of trees directly beneath Peter Pan's long-sought after hideout. Had the Captain the presence of mind to simply look skyward just once, this entire chapter of our story might have turned out wholly different. But such as it is, Hook pressed on, leaving Peter's domain as yet undetected.  
  
For all his heated deliberations that day, Hook had come up with very little of any tangibility. The more he walked, the less justification he could find for his dilemmas. All which stayed him on his endless path around and around Neverland was his impenetrable pride.  
  
How detestable for a man as he to fall to such submission over the whims of a GIRL. If his dogs knew the truth in his heart, they would mutiny at once. He was James Hook, after all – the only man whom Barbeque ever feared, and even Flint himself feared Barbeque!  
  
Aye, but there was the quandary. Was not pride and arrogance the precise vices which had driven Wendy from Peter Pan? Was not his whole grand mission to prove to Wendy how so much more valiant than the Boy was Hook? Perhaps it was not too late. This was the prospect which led the Captain back to his ship.  
  
Hook boarded from the stern and carved a direct path to his cabin, expecting the girl to be awaiting his return. She was not there, however, and Hook grew anxious at once. He dashed from the stateroom calling out her name, but all he found was Smee, shuffling up the steps from the lower deck to attend to his captain.  
  
As the bosun approached, he tossed a thumb toward the bow. Hook's eyes shot in that direction, and indeed he saw the flash of white standing tall against the black night, its back to him.  
  
"She's been there nearly all day," Smee relayed. "Just standin' 'n' watchin'. I suppose somthin' be troublin' 'er."  
  
"Do you suppose, Smee?" Hook muttered flatly, his eyes remaining aft.  
  
Smee fidgeted uncomfortably. Hook took a single step forward before turning to his bosun.  
  
"Get thee below decks," he instructed thoughtfully. "Tell the others to remain there as well for the remainder of the evening."  
  
"What about the watchmen, Cap'n?"  
  
"Give them a bottle of my best rum and the night off."  
  
But Smee remained whence he stood, blinking oddly at Hook.  
  
"Didst thou not hear me, Mr. Smee?" Hook seethed.  
  
"Aye, Cap'n!" came the quick reply, and Smee scurried back down the stairs and into the crew quarters below.  
  
Hook commenced his advance on Wendy almost in slow motion. He grappled for one concrete thought on which to affix, but he could not. He walked as if not quite under his own power. 'Twas not until he had made his way up the steps to the bow and suddenly found himself but a few yards facing the girl that he bade himself stop a moment.  
  
Every notion which had passed through his mind in the jungle that day had brought him to this precise point. Drawn at his feet was an invisible threshold. He could either cross it or turn back at once. Either way, his decision would prove exceptionally crucial. Indulgences were a natural convention for a man of his station. And standing within arm's length of him was the one beautiful thing which he found he no longer wished to obliterate. Now, he wished to wholly possess it, if only for a night, just to expel it from his system once and for all, and by the next sunrise, he would be assuaged of his curse and could hence return to the proper matters at hand. This seemed the only acceptable option. Thus Hook proceeded forward.  
  
Wendy had sensed his presence straight away, but she maintained her poise, preferring to wait on his instigation. She had indeed been standing in that spot for hours, and whence the first couple of them had been devoted to a vigil for Peter, the rest soon dissolved into a vigil for Hook as well. She found her thoughts of the Boy to be too painful to entertain, and in turn, she discovered her own alarming anticipation at finding true solace from the Captain. When she felt him take his first steps toward her, instinctively her mouth twitched with the memory at his rather overzealous attempt at consolation earlier that morning, and the more time she spent with this recollection, the greater her appreciation for it grew. But still there was Peter...  
  
Hook approached slowly so as not to startle her, and she strived to keep her composure, concentrating her gaze upon the tranquil seas beyond. When he was but inches near, he let his body close in around her, moving his face close to her ear. Wendy stayed her ground even as he slipped his arms beneath hers and rested them on the railing.  
  
"Forget him, Wendy," he said softly, his voice like velvet. "He is just a boy."  
  
These words she had been repeating to herself all day long, and to finally hear them aloud somehow lent them more credence. Perhaps it was just the syrupy way in which Hook eased them into her ear that made them seem so much more tolerable. In any case, Wendy heard the words and could scarce but accede to them. Or to Hook.  
  
Wendy drew in a breath, one of both relief and trepidation, and gradually began to turn toward the Captain. He opened up his stance upon the girl to allow her movement but kept his arms vaguely outstretched, silently offering himself for a pillar. With the merest of sad smiles, Wendy fell quietly into his arms, her cheek pressed to his chest. Hook sealed his arms around her but kept his menacing claw at a distance. She melted into him, nearly getting lost in his lavish waistcoat and ruff. At last she let go her breath, and with it seemed to depart a great deal of her cares. Nobody had ever embraced her like this – at least, no man had. Not even her own father. And she found it such a comfort that she nearly began to weep anew.  
  
Hook brazenly let his hand drift from the base of her waist and up her back, beneath her hair, and over the exposed skin around her neck. At this, Wendy's unease returned, but she tried to squelch it. Surely, 'twas nothing more than a gesture of succor on his part. Yet it elicited that odd stirring in her belly which had arisen after their dance in his stateroom. It was so intimate that she instantly felt embarrassed to be experiencing it at such close proximity to the Captain. Would he sense it? And if he did, what awful things would he think of her?  
  
Hook did detect it somewhat, and it caused his heart to start pounding rapidly, which Wendy heard plainly in her ear pressed to his chest. Thus she realized, alarmingly, that he must be feeling the very same strange stirrings! She must be somehow encouraging it, and this gave her great unrest. She felt perhaps that she must break away at once lest she bring about a query to which she could not reply.  
  
When she lifted her head from his chest, Hook had his hand at the back of her neck, and he tried to flex it so that Wendy would look him in the eyes. If only she would look him in the eyes, he could inquire anything of her. But she would not budge, and she began to pick at his ruff with her fingers in a faux act of flippancy, as if removing bits of lint that were really not there. Hook could not help but grin at her girlish apprehension, and it only heightened his desire to catch her gaze.  
  
Removing his fingers from her neck, he now brought them to her chin, gently forcing her face upward. Wendy could scarce deny him any longer, and with a guarded brow she allowed herself to look at him. The Captain looked so bizarrely different to her – though not altogether in a bad way. She saw a grave vulnerability in his typically cold eyes which she could never have imagined he possessed.  
  
Hook saw plainly her secret kiss, lingering there in the right-hand corner. How lovely if he were to catch it. He focused upon her so starkly that just his stare alone felt like a cage around Wendy. It was all intensely awkward to her, but she would not have to bear it for very long, for almost as soon as her gaze had met his, he shut his eyes halfway and inclined his face to hers. Wendy remained immobile as she suddenly felt his lips gently brush hers. Her eyes too closed partially as an abrupt lightheadedness overtook her at his touch. He bestowed several soft kisses all about her mouth – every corner, ever perfect arc of her lips – waiting patiently for her reaction. He soon had it when he felt her finally purse her own lips against his. She had happily accepted the invitation, and with this admittance, he again moved his hand to the back of her neck and kissed her harder, and once more she heartily responded, clutching tightly to the ruff of his shirt.  
  
He tasted her gleefully, and she did all she could to keep up, as this was all so frightfully new. The tickle in her belly had spread to her entire person at this point, every sweep of her lips against the Captain's sating a thirst within her that she had as yet not known existed. This was certainly not in the least equivalent to the kiss she had shared with Peter Pan. So much more to it there was she could not begin to suppose. The more she responded to him, the hungrier he became, until at last he parted her lips and deftly slipped his tongue betwixt her teeth.  
  
Almost at once, Wendy gasped and pulled away, pressing her fingers to her mouth. She stared up at the captain with such naivety, and Hook's face fell slightly into a disappointed look one might give a pet who had done something naughty. Wendy quickly caught onto her own silliness. Clearly, this was just yet another facet of this fresh experience of which she was so horribly ignorant.  
  
And so, with a sheepish grin, Wendy replaced her hand to the Captain's chest and allowed him to advance on her again. He softened anew and reclaimed her lips, once more opening them and blithely introducing his tongue into her mouth. Wendy keenly followed his lead, countering in kind when he swept his tongue against hers. Before too long, she proved to be a quick study, and she discovered yet another thirst within her that had remained clandestine until now whence it had found the proper tonic with which to quench it.  
  
Hook became impossibly lost in his own ravenous onslaught by now, holding her so tight against him she could barely breathe. At last he came up for air himself, tearing away from her lips to press deep kisses to her cheeks, the sides of her nose, the corners of her eyes, every unspoiled inch of her he could find. Wendy inhaled heavily and drank in every new touch, including the prickly scrape of his beard against her delicate skin.  
  
"Oh Wendy," Hook spoke at last, breathing into her ear. "How I have ached for this so..."  
  
"Have you?" came Wendy's weak reply. It was wholly rhetorical – she recognized now how this moment had been building for some time.  
  
"Intensely," Hook cooed, but his word became entangled and lost within her hair. "Do you not feel it as well?"  
  
Wendy parted her eyelids and stared hazily up into the stars. "I...I do feel something."  
  
"What, my darling?"  
  
"I feel..."  
  
But Wendy's voice trailed off and her eyes closed once more when she felt what could only have been Hook's tongue glide softly up the back of her ear. She gave out a tiny moan and her knees went a trifle limp.  
  
In spite of this, she swallowed and attempted to finish her thought. "I feel...like a thousand tiny fingers are pinching me everywhere all at once."  
  
Hook chortled against her cheek, then he moved away from her entirely and cupped her face in his hand.  
  
"Do you know what those fingers are?" Hook asked with a cunning grin. Wendy shook her head, and Hook took her hand in his, placing soft kisses on each knuckle one at a time. "They are the merry minstrels of womanhood come to serenade you into their elite little society, my dear."  
  
Wendy blanched a bit. Was that truly to what all this portended? Had she, without realizing it at all, given up the reigns of her childhood by kissing the Captain and allowing it to wreak such havoc upon her sentiments as it had?  
  
"You are not a child, Wendy," Hook stated grimly. "I have known this since first I laid eyes upon you on that rock. You can't escape it, my beauty, for it is quite nigh. It threatens to burst from your very flesh at any moment."  
  
My, how frightfully grisly, Wendy thought, and indeed her face expressed this.  
  
"But you needn't come to it alone," Hook said, stroking her cheek. "Take my hand and I can escort you soundly into adulthood's waiting arms, to keep it from snatching you up callously and against your proclivity. Would you let me do this for you, Wendy?"  
  
She began to quake subtly beneath her nightdress. She could not quite penetrate the meaning of his words or how exactly he intended to 'escort her to womanhood', but something about the whole affair made her insides jump about as if a great tempest was at hand. It was frightening and exciting all at once, and Wendy had, after all, come to Neverland to find one last great adventure. So with this in mind, she gave the Captain her acquiescence.  
  
Now 'twas Hook's turn to experience the internal bounding about as Wendy had. But he masked it all with a casual air as he closed his hand around Wendy's and began to lead her gracefully from the bow. The Captain guided the young lady across the ship, holding her hand aloft as if a prince with his princess, and she watched him keenly the entire way, spellbound, as always, by his unremitting chivalry.  
  
When they reached his quarters, Hook gestured Ladies First to Wendy, and she obliged, stepping inside and stopping about halfway into the room to wait for what was to come next. She heard Hook close the door, and in what could only have been a split second following, she felt him behind her and his arms firm about her waist and shoulders. Intuitively she let her head fall back onto his shoulder, and he pressed his cheek to hers.  
  
"Might I join you in the bedchamber this evening, my lady?" he inquired with a husky coyness.  
  
"All right," Wendy replied. What else could she have said, if it was all part of this mysterious process?  
  
'Twas then, as she followed the Captain to the bedchamber, that a notion sprung to Wendy's mind. Suddenly the idea of she and Hook entering the bedroom together brought to her recollection of what such a deed might suggest. Her good upbringing had always taught her that no woman shall ever be escorted into a place of slumber by a man who was not her husband. She had her whole life wondered why this was so, until she had come across several unmarked books in a dimly lit section in the back of the library not but a year or two ago. They were most lurid books, detailing the raunchy adventures of lusty women and of dashing men who rode horses half- unclad, their manes of hair billowing in a luscious ocean breeze as he approached. The hero would always scoop the willing maiden into his arms, kiss her passionately, and take her to his bedroom, wherein they would indulge in the most wicked and delicious exploits, all of which made Wendy's skin turn warm and flushed just to simply read! Such scandalous and bawdy material, and yet she always snuck back to that section of the library when no one was looking to read more. She had wanted to quiz her mother on the goings-on of these books, primarily because she so often saw her mother and father retire to their bedroom together, and Wendy wondered if, beyond the door, they were to partake in the provocative activities akin to the lusty hero and fiery maiden. Though she could scarcely cast her stuffy parents in such romantic roles! And so, the implicit novels and their subject matter remained as yet a tasty puzzle.  
  
Were these the sorts of things Hook meant to do with her as a means to make her a woman? He had already taken her into his arms and kissed her passionately. Were they now to indulge in wicked and bawdy acts within his bed? Wendy's heart began to race at the thought, and she felt her palms become moist with anxiousness. She had never been so gauche as to imagine Captain Hook in such indecent terms. And she most certainly had not imagined herself in them either! But perhaps she was presuming too much. Perhaps the Captain's intentions were wholly honorable. This was Neverland, after all, and what may apply to the Mainland scarcely did so here.  
  
Inside the bedchamber, Hook took Wendy by the shoulders and sat her down at the edge of the bed. Then, he crossed to the door and closed it tightly. In doing so, he left the unlit room in a thick darkness, save for the soft blue glow radiating in from the window, so he strolled to his desk and lit a single candle upon it, lending a rusty hue to the muted ambiance.  
  
Wendy watched his every move, but when he turned from the desk back toward the bed and met her notice, she looked away shyly. He found this amusing and not entirely unexpected. He came back to the bed and sat upon the foot of it, perpendicular to Wendy, and began removing his waistcoat and vest. Wendy stole a glance or two over her shoulder, wondering if there was something she should be doing too whilst he was occupied in his own endeavors.  
  
She saw him lean forward and begin to unbuckle his boots. Or, at least, he tried to. Smee had always been the one to do this for him, but that was hardly practical at this time. Hook discreetly struggled with this for some while, and it was not before long that Wendy caught on to his difficultly, attempting to unbuckle a boot with one hand and a hook. She thought it dreadfully pitiable, and her compassion edged to the surface at once.  
  
Wendy rose from her side of the bed and moved to him, crouching down before his feet and gently brushing aside his hand and claw to gain access to the troublesome buckle herself. But Hook hastily seized her wrist.  
  
"I am not helpless, Wendy," he grumbled severely.  
  
Wendy managed a kind smile. "I know. I just...I'd like to do it for you."  
  
Well, in that case, Hook thought, and he warily released her wrist. He sat back and watched with a degree of ambiguity as she unbuckled both boots with nary an effort and removed them. He figured that would be the end of it, but to his pleasant astonishment, Wendy reached her hands to his knees and swiftly began to unfurl his stockings as well. Her fingers brushed enticingly against his bare leg, and this, mixed with her maddening benevolence, ignited his desire for her anew.  
  
He suddenly lurched forward and pulled her up onto her knees by the shoulder, kissing her fiercely. He opened his legs a bit to allow her closer access to him, her hands resting securely atop his thighs and her compliance to his mouth piqued as ever before.  
  
Hook swung his arms around Wendy's back, holding them straight out, and skillfully unscrewed his claw without a missing a single marvelous sweep of Wendy's lips, letting the cruel iron appendage fall carelessly to the floor.  
  
Now, at some point during this jumble of kissing and caressing, Captain Hook's shirt had been removed. 'Tis hard to say who was the initiator of this with the hodgepodge of heated activity occurring, but nevertheless, his shirt had somehow come off, and neither one of them may have ever been the wiser to it if Wendy's hand had not brushed up against the leather strap across Hook's chest. At this, Wendy flinched and tilted away from him, her eyes wide with shock at her first sight of the ghastly harness which the Captain must always wear to hold his hook in place.  
  
Regrettably, Hook had quite forgotten all about the ugly device, which was rather a feat indeed considering it kept him in a constant state of physical agony every second he wore it. But the discomfort quickly came rushing back to him whence seeing the reaction it elicited from Wendy. He could scarce do anything other than sit motionless and wait for the inevitable moment when Wendy would run shrieking from the room at his handicap. But, so full of lovely surprises Wendy was this night, she remained precisely where she knelt.  
  
Wendy herself had somehow taken for granted Hook's disfigurement. She had rather always supposed Captain Hook as having been BORN with an iron claw, never once considering that he indeed bore a horrible injury. But it was all evident enough to her now as she looked over the horrible harness, and she saw how dreadfully it dug into his skin. Why, 'twas no wonder at all how he could constantly be in a perpetual state of ill-temper when he had to suffer this torturous device day in and day out. Well, neither he nor she would have any more of it this night if she had anything to say about it.  
  
Her fingers came to rest upon the clasp on his right shoulder, but once more, Hook took hold of her wrist, only this time, it was not out of pride but dread. His eyes spoke volumes of the panic at her impending discovery of his defect.  
  
"Please," Wendy pleaded, "I must see it."  
  
Hook's voice trembled though he tried to hide it. "I do so fear your revulsion, Wendy. And your pity."  
  
"You shall have neither, I promise," she vowed.  
  
Hook strived to maintain his dignity as readily as he could, but he found it quite for naught. He hadn't counted on this as part of his scheme for that night. In fact, he had fully intended on keeping his claw attached for the duration, but this had gone askew. No matter now, for the skeleton had been sprung from the cupboard, and if the evening were to progress any further, it was clear he would have to reveal himself fully.  
  
He allowed Wendy to unfasten the strap from his chest, and with a brief wriggling from the sling around his left shoulder and the squeaky release of a lever, the harness fell away from his person and clunked to the ground.  
  
Under glistening eyes, Wendy's jaw hung slightly open as she took her first intimate glimpse at the stump where Captain Hook's right hand should have been. It was ever more hideous than she had expected. The wound did not appear a clean one at all – rather it appeared as if it had been mercilessly sawn through with a blunt implement. Indeed the sight of it sickened Wendy, but 'twas not so much the injury itself which vexed her but rather the harsh realization that Peter Pan – her dear Peter – had been the one to inflict such an atrocity.  
  
Hook became terribly discouraged – though it was hardly surprising – when he saw the tears begin to flow freely from Wendy's eyes, and he prepared himself for her revolted getaway. But again, she did the unexpected by staying put, and furthermore from this, she brought her hand up to the mangled wound and began to caress it with her fingertips. The Captain nearly went faint at this scene. Nobody, but NO one, had ever dared to lay an eye upon his deformity, let alone a finger, and though he sat tight- lipped, the gesture floored him completely. But not even the stoic Captain could remain unmoved for very long when Wendy wrapped her fingers around his deficient arm and brought it tenderly to her cheek. Hook's entire torso slumped, as if it were an anchor having been released from its rigging into the sea, and with it came unavoidable tears of his own.  
  
"Oh Captain," Wendy cried, "I am so sorry."  
  
The corners of Hook's mouth arced slightly upward and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "I would think, at this present juncture, that it might be more appropriate...for you to call me James."  
  
Still cradling his mutilation, Wendy smiled through her tears. "James..."  
  
Never had his name resonated more beautifully within his ears than when she uttered it. She was a goddess, an absolute angel of mercy, Hook was certain of it now, and he could nary find the resolve to take advantage of her that night any longer. He drew in a weighty breath.  
  
"Wendy...would you mind terribly," he sighed, "just lying down with me tonight?"  
  
Wendy nodded and sniffled, somewhat relieved that her earlier suspicions of impropriety appeared to be eradicated for good now.  
  
Hook scooted himself back toward the head of the bed, and Wendy came around the side and climbed in from there. He lay on his side facing her, his stump hidden beneath the pillows by his ear, and Wendy settled herself before him, resting her head on his right elbow. Hook slung his other arm around her back, pulling her a tad closer to him, and she placed her hands ever so daintily against his bare chest.  
  
The Captain gazed hard upon Wendy's angelic face. Once more, this rendered her rather sheepish, so she kept her eyes affixed to his chest. He was quite broad and possessed sufficient musculature that one would presume of a man in his station. He practically dwarfed her, and she imagined she could curl up against him and easily be lost in his powerful arms forever. A warmth coursed through her own chest as she thought of this – it was a warmth which could be associated with a person who felt unconditionally safe and secure in their present circumstances. Wendy had never felt so safe. And she quickly realized that the Captain was right about one thing – Peter Pan could never hold her in his arms so prudently as this.  
  
Wendy noticed the large tattoo on Hook's left shoulder. She knew it at once as the crest of the Eton school. How extraordinary, she thought, to discover that he had earned his boyhood education in the very same city in which she lived. In fact, Aunt Millicent had sent Slightly there for his instruction. Wendy stifled a grin as she imagined what Captain Hook might think about one of Peter Pan's Lost Boys trudging the halls of his alma mater.  
  
She aimlessly fingered the outline of Hook's inky crest with her fingertip. (Earlier, she had briefly noticed another tattoo on Hook's right shoulder, but she had as yet not known what it said or depicted.) Gradually, her hand drifted back to his chest, moving with care over whence that dreadful harness had rubbed his skin raw. Hook closed his eyes and sighed quietly at her soothing touch.  
  
In due course did Wendy's fingers tactfully find their way up the Captain's throat, over his bushy chin, to his tidily kept mustache. She traced the shape of it from the small dip betwixt his nose and mouth to the meticulous coils at the ends. She wondered how exactly he managed to get them so perfect. Then her explorations inevitably led her to his mouth itself, and soon she found her fingers upon his lips. Hook pursed them intuitively just a bit against her touch. Wendy would very much have liked to taste them once more, but she was rather wary to assert this desire, for she neither could determine whether the Captain was still willing nor was she entirely sure she wanted to provoke him at all, lest it lead them once more down the ambivalent path of bawdiness. So, she only silently wished it to herself, half hoping he would somehow read her thoughts and take the matter again under his own control.  
  
She must have been giving off far more signs than she realized, for Hook picked up on her anticipation quite keenly. He eked his face nearer to hers, though he had not much distance to cover before he was able to easily reclaim her lips with his. Wendy responded at once, even boldly stroking her tongue across his bottom lip, encouraging him inside her mouth. Hook held her tighter, and in no time at all, his passion was piqued anew.  
  
He searched heartily for her hidden kiss, wanting it more than ever, but still it eluded him. Yet this only further ignited his hunger. He turned her over onto her back and continued his frenzied attack upon her mouth. His entire body was on fire for her, and soon her secret kiss became the least of his lusty aims.  
  
When Hook at last disengaged his mouth from Wendy's, she breathing heavily through moist and inflamed lips, he looked down upon her with an odd grimness in his eyes. He blithely fiddled with the opal he had given to her as it rose up and down atop her chest with her breath. Then his hand moved a touch further down, to the collar of her nightdress. When his hand came to rest here, she stared up at him quizzically. Then, in a flash, his fingers deftly unclasp her top button.  
  
Wendy's eyes darted downward then back up again, her breath picking up a heavier pace. Oh dear, she thought, just like those lurid novels. 'Twas really happening, wasn't it? She saw plainly in Hook's darkened eyes that it was.  
  
Soon her second button became unfastened, and then the third, the fourth, fifth...until they came to an end just above her belly button. Hook now tore his eyes from Wendy's trepidatious face to gaze upon the graceful sliver of exposed flesh beneath his hand. Starting from the bottom, he let his fingertips glide slowly upward like a warm breeze against her skin, coming to rest ultimately at her throat.  
  
"You're trembling," he said with a mild hoarseness.  
  
"Yes." It could nary be denied.  
  
"Are you scared?" he breathed into her neck.  
  
Wendy closed her eyes and wavered. "I don't know."  
  
He smirked slightly. "Don't be." He propped himself halfway onto the elbow of his bad arm. "You are in very good......hand."  
  
He smiled at her warmly, and she smiled back, thankful for the respite of levity. This was just enough a decoy for Hook to pull back the lapels of Wendy's nightdress without her becoming too alarmed. But still she gasped faintly when she realized that suddenly her breasts were completely exposed before him.  
  
Hook found them marvelous at once. Not too large yet not too small, and she, being so young, most likely had more wonderful blossoming ahead of her. Though the Captain could scarcely imagine these two perfect little orbs needing any improvement at all.  
  
He slithered his body downward a few inches, almost as if a snake in reverse, his clever gaze beneath lowered brow still upon Wendy's face until his chin grazed her ribcage. Now he gave his full attention to Wendy's right breast, first sweeping his hand over it, then alighting upon it several greedy kisses. Wendy stopped breathing at once and clenched her fists tightly at her sides, keeping squelched the acute inclination to push him violently away. She gasped audibly when the Captain took her tender flesh gently betwixt his teeth, and she moaned fully when he slid his warm tongue against her hardened nipple, nibbling and suckling gently upon it as Wendy's entire body reeled.  
  
Gradually Hook found his way to the left breast, and he soon discovered he rather preferred this one, as he could explore it with his mouth whilst fondling the other with his good hand. Wendy, I must say, found this quite agreeable as well, entangling her fingers within the Captain's black curls as he tugged coyly upon her pert little protrusion with his teeth.  
  
When the Captain's engagement with Wendy's chest came to a lamentable end, he returned his body in alliance with hers. Her lips were dry from breathlessness when he seized them again, each new time more zealously than the last. Once again, he employed this as a diversion from the roaming activity of his hand, which was finding its way inch by inch down the side of Wendy's body, across her thigh, and beneath the hem of her nightdress. His fingertips crawled back upward against her bare hip, and he quickly became aware that she wore no undergarments. This was a most favorable happenstance.  
  
As Hook kept Wendy preoccupied with their oral endeavors, he shifted his hips over her left leg and carefully pushed her opposite knee outward. His hand quivered subtly as he stroked the inside of her thigh and then let it settle directly upon that vastly coveted destination directly between her legs.  
  
Wendy gasped into his mouth, her hand impulsively clasping against his arm.  
  
"'Tis all right," Hook whispered before further capturing her lips.  
  
But Wendy remained decidedly rigid even when his fingers began to contract against her sensitive flesh. Quite contrary to her predilection, she grew intensely engorged and damp at his touch, as if she no longer had any say in what her body was to find pleasurable. Even her hips began to move on their own, writhing vaguely under the Captain's caresses. Thus when she began to moan softly, even she knew not entirely if it was out of misgiving or gratification.  
  
Hook detected her readiness beneath his hand, a pair of fleshy folds dutifully standing guard around Wendy's womanhood, and with as much informality as he could manage, he let a single finger slip inside this sultry aperture. This time, Wendy's eyes flew open and she cried out, her grip upon Hook's arm strengthening. Her body tightened around his hand at once, and she stared up at the Captain with dreadfully troubled eyes.  
  
Hook hushed her softly, keeping his face close to hers and cradling her neck within his other elbow.  
  
"Just relax, my beauty..."  
  
Wendy could not begin to imagine how she was to do that. She felt rather as if she was being stabbed and tickled at the same time. She could scarcely help but constrict herself in reaction to this utterly alien infiltration of her person. Nonetheless, Hook started to flex his finger within her, impelling it in and out, making small circles, until she finally became conscious and welcoming of the sensations it sent surging all throughout her. And she found, to her incredulity, that indeed if she bade herself lie back, relax, and allow her knee to fall welcomingly open once more, the entire experience was quite intoxicating. With all due credit to Hook, her body had unearthed yet another long dormant hunger only now becoming fulfilled.  
  
The pirate pressed on in his heated ventures between her thighs, watching every nuance of Wendy's face and body react gorgeously to these efforts. How her visage spoke of strained bliss, and her bare, heaving chest glistened under a thin layer of perspiration. Hook had not expected to find so much personal satisfaction in her pleasure, but even so he felt himself grow taut beneath his trousers simply from hearing the sweet sound of her moans meant only for him. He began to work her more vigorously, even pinching the swollen lip of her hollow betwixt his thumb and finger. She gasped sharply and pressed her clammy palm down over his hand, arching her back and gnashing her hips for even more. She began to pant heavily as a great burning sensation accumulated all through her lower half, rushing in like a blazing tidal wave toward the source of its stimulation, and even Hook felt the looming warmth converging upon his digit inside her.  
  
Then suddenly, he tore his hand away, and before Wendy had any chance to protest, he scooped his arms under hers and hoisted her into an upright seated position before him. This sudden movement mixed with Wendy's erotically-induced haze made for a clumsy recipe when trying to maintain a balance upon her knees facing the Captain. He held her waist until she blinkingly regained her bearings, and once she seemed steady enough, Hook gingerly brought his arms about her thighs back to the rumpled hem of her nightdress. Once more, he slipped both his hand and stump beneath the hem and started to lift it over her waist, and almost instantly did Wendy throw her hands down over it and sit back on her heels.  
  
She presumed he would acknowledge her insecurity with another disapproving grimace, but when she finally allowed herself to look into his face, she found nothing more than a cool softness and even the merest hint of a smile.  
  
"You needn't be afraid," Hook reassured her, "to let me see you."  
  
Indeed, it did seem only fair, bearing in mind that he had shared with her his most private affliction – the mutilated right arm – so why should she not allow this man to view her own intimacies? Besides, he had put his hand to nearly every hidden nook of her person, thus it would be rather the considerate thing to do to permit the Captain to see that which he had been touching.  
  
Wendy eased her hands from her dress, setting them aside, and came back upon her knees, wincing slightly at the pressure it put on her bum ankle. Hook commenced his effort straight away before she could change her mind, and within moments, her nightdress had come over her head and released from her upraised arms. Her hair tumbled from the collar like a ruddy rainfall upon her shoulders. With a baited breath, Hook brushed the thick tendrils from her chest and watched her skin instantly turn bright pink. She kept her arms close into her person, but Hook held them gently to the sides so as to absorb the full vision.  
  
Just then, Wendy thought she saw the candle on the writing desk flicker queerly in her peripheral vision. Partly thankful for any sort of diversion from this most awkward circumstance, she shot her head in that direction, but Hook was quick to recapture her attention.  
  
At last the Captain exhaled blissfully. He was not altogether sure if it was due to his not having laid eyes upon a female form in nearly centuries or if indeed Wendy Darling was the most breathtaking creature he'd had the honor of beholding, but not a more stunning sight had he seen since he plundered Emperor Xiandi's gold on the Bay of Bengal. Looking at her now, he needed less assurance as to her complete corporeal maturity. He drank her in languidly, and once he had gotten his proper fill, he sighed again.  
  
"Divinity..." he whispered grandly. And 'twas all his.  
  
At this favorable affirmation, Wendy shyly emerged from her slouch. She had never much been one for vanity, and nobody in her life had ever given her cause for such self-estimations. She thought herself rather plain, really. But to hear a man of such sophistication and discriminating taste liken her in the rawest form to a design of Heaven itself, how could she hence deny him anything at all?  
  
Having Wendy firmly in advantageous spirits, Hook released her arms and came up on his knees as well with a crafty grin.  
  
"Now... 'tis my turn."  
  
Before Wendy could ask, Hook's hand dove into his own lap, and by means of a deftness that was sorely lacking in his efforts with his boots, he swiftly liberated the silver buttons of his trousers. A few simple feats following, and in a flash, his pants were but a crumpled memory upon the bedchamber floor.  
  
The Captain stood proud and straight atop his knees facing Wendy, and the girl's sparkling eyes grew round as saucers when their attention was taken over by the most frightfully peculiar sight she had yet known – a massive extension sprouting from betwixt his legs, aimed directly and dauntingly at her like a rapier. She had seen a similar protuberance on both her brothers, but Heavens, nothing whatsoever as this! It was twice as thick as the candle on the desk and covered with dark, coarse hairs. And Hook seemed awfully proud of it, this awesome symbol of his masculinity.  
  
"It's all for you, Wendy," he proclaimed.  
  
Her eyes darted up to his face. "What?"  
  
He reclaimed her hand in his and brought it near his lap. "Touch it."  
  
Wendy suddenly clenched her hand into a fist and quickly asked: "Why?"  
  
Hook's brow fell. "Well...," he began dubiously, "I touched you, didn't I?"  
  
Wendy recovered in concurrence and blushed slightly. "Oh! Yes...All right..."  
  
Wendy unfurled her fingers and let the Captain place them lightly upon his appendage. She saw his body tremor briefly as if a hot poker had been pressed to his skin. She wondered if she had done something wrong, but she couldn't possibly, as she had scarcely done a thing at all. Carefully puppeteering Wendy's tiny hand within his own, Hook demonstrated how she was to glide it across his full, erected length. It felt almost as funny as it looked, in Wendy's opinion, but there was no mistaking the very serious effect it had upon the Captain.  
  
Hook left Wendy's curious hand to its devices, letting his own fall feebly to her thigh, and he leaned his forehead against her neck with a gruff sound from his throat that one might make whence tasting something magnificent. Wendy continued to warily caress his esteemed manhood as best she could determine to his liking, he aiding in her efforts by gently writhing his hips beneath her fingers as she had done by instinct when he touched her. Wendy noted that he seemed most stimulated the nearer she was to the base of his phallus, so she lengthened and invigorated her strokes, eliciting from the Captain several fierce shudders all through his body. As his fervor grew, so did Wendy's naïve concern.  
  
"Am I hurting you?" she asked anxiously after he had thrown his head back in response to an unexpected squeeze.  
  
"No...no..." he managed through shortened breaths. "That's......you're......It's perfect..."  
  
As he leaned backward and grappled at the bedsheets beneath him, Wendy watched in fascination at the overwhelming effect she was having over this man. The great pirate captain, legendary from sea to sea, the only one whom Barbeque had ever feared, reduced to a quivering heap upon his own bed at the simple touch of her hand. 'Twas then that Wendy finally understood how intoxicating a little accordance of power could be. And as all addicts do, she wanted more. Briskly she clamped her other hand onto him, and with both sets of fingertips, she dragged all ten of them deeply down the length his burning, quake-ridden organ. Hook's teeth grinded and his broad chest heaved toward the ceiling whilst oozing such a din of torturous pleasure from his throat.  
  
Hook recognized the oncoming charge of volcanic fury hastening toward his loins, but in advance of its eruption, he suddenly struck Wendy's hands from his flesh, binding his arms about her waist and pulling her into the most ferocious kiss yet. And before Wendy could figure out what was happening next, the Captain brusquely shoved her onto her back upon the bed.  
  
He sat hovering above the apprehensive girl for a moment, catching his breath. Now Wendy was certain that she had acted amiss, and she kept her arms in defensively at her chest. But after a short time had passed and the Captain had recovered himself, his countenance softened, and thus did Wendy's as well. His eyes washed over her as if a king inspecting his evening's feast. Wendy studied his every intimation, wondering if the rite of passage had been completed, if she was now a woman and he was hence finished with her. Though she had a nagging suspicion that there was indeed more to come that night.  
  
No sooner had she thought this than Hook began to crawl craftily toward her upon his forearms. With his body he was able to wedge himself betwixt her knees and settle his groin against her inner thighs, his short stiff hairs prickling Wendy's sensitive skin. He pressed his body down atop hers, delighting in the feel of her soft young breasts against his chest, and leaned slightly on his bad arm so as not to squash her. He cupped her face in his hand and bade her look deep into his piercing eyes, partly obscured by dark ringlets hanging haphazardly over his forehead.  
  
"Listen to me carefully, Wendy," he began most gravely, "The induction to womanhood will not be a pleasant one at the start. I daresay it may cause you greater ill than these mendings..."  
  
He ran a light finger down the length of her stitches.  
  
"But I pledge to thee," he continued, "that the distress shall pass and henceforth be quite agreeable for you if only you allow it. But I need your absolute trust." He cupped her face once again more sternly. "Do you trust me, Wendy?"  
  
A resonance in his voice hinted to Wendy that whatever was afoot might have as much impact on him as it would on her. She felt his lower body squirm further between her legs, and suddenly a wave of dread came over her. That monolith sprouting from his thighs was pressing portentously right against the damp opening into which his finger had earlier immersed itself. Was he truly expecting to impel that massive thing into her tiny cavity? Surely 'twas not possible! She became vaguely panicked at once, but the earnest expression within the Captain's eyes did a bit to soothe her concerns. After all, he seemed more intuitive of her body than even she herself! And he had thus far done nary a wrong by her, so what justification could she find in refuting him at this stage?  
  
Wendy nodded her avowal of trust, and a soft kiss was pressed to her cheek.  
  
"There's my brave girl," Hook whispered, his heart beginning to pound with anticipation. "Now...hold onto me tightly."  
  
Wendy dutifully obliged, wrapping her arms firm about his neck. Hook adjusted his hips a tad more, aligning his hardened instrument with the precision of an executioner at the guillotine. His one hand went to her thigh and his impaired arm slipped around her waist.  
  
All was uncannily calm and still for a few moments, Hook's primed breath and her own blood streaming through her veins being but the only sounds in Wendy's ears. And then, with a sudden buck up his hips, Hook drove himself hard into her, though only about an inch. The abruptness and violence of the act followed by the sharp pain sent Wendy's entire body under alarm, and her face froze with panic as she gasped. Hook thrust fiercely again, moving merely a bit deeper within. Wendy dug her nails into his shoulders and cried out.  
  
"Don't fight me..." Hook groaned, and he attempted to force himself deeper once more.  
  
Wendy threw her head back and screeched, the agony becoming unbearable. Still, Hook thrust again and again, but making only very gradual progress each time. In his head, Hook himself now began to worry that he might be too large for her – like attempting to squeeze a grapefruit through a lemon – thus re-arousing his shamefaced reservations concerning her youth. Perhaps she really was yet but a child, and he had only convinced himself otherwise so as to justify his lurid longings for her. And now the truth was becoming painfully evident that she was indeed not ready for such harrowing physical relations.  
  
No! Hook shouted to his officious mind. He had come this far and 'twould be wholly humiliating not to follow through. He strained as deep within her as he could, his own body starting to ache with his efforts. And the fact that Wendy had gone so protectively rigid made the task all the more strenuous. He presently had her grasped tight in both his arms, keeping her at bay as she was flailing about desperately. Not a child, not a child, the Captain chanted to himself with every brutal buck of his hips.  
  
At last, he felt himself reach her threshold. Gnashing his teeth, he tried laboriously to break through, but her maidenhead was quite resolute. O childish obstinacies! He'd sooner trounce Peter Pan than smash through these blasted walls of Wendy's virtue...  
  
Ah, Pan...Was he not always the jester come to mock Hook whence he was at his most despairing? That surly boy, Hook saw his face plainly upon Wendy's precious chastity, the ever-present smug grin goading the frazzled Captain.  
  
"You could never claim her from me!" Pan would jeer at him. "You are OLD. And ALONE. And DONE FOR!"  
  
"CURSE YOU, PAN!" Hook almost roared aloud, but he settled for an aggravated grunt instead. Oh, he would show the Boy. He drove his fleshy dagger ever deeper within the girl, clawing its way toward that laughing, juvenile face.  
  
Hook would make short work of him yet – clamping his hand over the squealing girl's mouth, pushing and inching and scraping and scouring – until at last...  
  
AHH!  
  
Peter Pan's cocky visage was superbly obliterated, and Hook threw open the gates to Wendy's womanhood under a tapestry of radiant wails.  
  
The Captain's lower body sank into a sigh, and he leaned upon his elbows, his chest puffed and eyes closed, taking in a delicious, grinning breath through his nose. Though 'twas not a beaming for Wendy's deflowering but for his brilliant defeat over Peter Pan.  
  
"Now, what say you to THAT, Boy?" Hook boasted to Pan in his mind. Nothing at all could mar the sheer delight into which the Captain melted at this moment. Nothing, that is, until he suddenly realized that there was a girl lying beneath him, sobbing miserably.  
  
Wendy could scarcely put together what was happening. She would rather not think about it at all – she only wanted to curl into a ball under the covers and remain there forever. Was this really how it had to be? Is this how a girl became a woman? Could this truly be what went on between men and women behind closed doors? And, oh! had her father done this to her mother?! What a horrendous notion. Right then she despised her father, and she wept openly.  
  
Hook was somewhat awestruck at this scene before him. Wendy's cheek had fallen to the side, her tears puddling against the pillows, and when Hook tried to turn her face back toward him, she resisted indignantly.  
  
"No...," she murmured between sobs. She kept her hands fisted in at her chest, refusing to touch him. He felt her whole body lurching with tears beneath his. And it utterly broke him.  
  
"The worst of it has passed, Wendy, I promise you," he cooed to her, still attempting to gain her full notice. But still, she did not budge. In an effort to appease her, he withdrew from inside her almost entirely, to alleviate any pain or pressure she might still be experiencing. But the tears flowed on, and he was mortified.  
  
Fancy Captain Hook mortified by a crying girl! Why, he had taken countless maidens in his day – some forcefully, others innocents like Wendy – many of whom had been brought to tears as well, so why should Wendy's grievances be so crushing? Hook had no answers for this, nor did he have any solutions for regaining her veneration. All he could think to do was what he ultimately did end up doing – leaning forward and gently kissing away the tears from her eyes.  
  
At his first touch, Wendy blanched a bit, but when she felt his lips softly alighting upon her tear-stained cheeks, she saw her sobs wane. Slowly, she opened her eyes at last and began to turn her face back toward him, and he continued to wash away her hurting with such an astonishing tenderness that almost at once was all the pain forgotten.  
  
As she inclined to him, his lips eventually found their way to hers, and they were a warm spot of fresh air after all the unpleasantness just moments before. Hook pulled back to gaze intently upon her face and make sure she was still with him. Her tears had ebbed completely, and she looked longingly to the erudite older man above her as his blue eyes sparkled through the murkiness of the little room. And just as only he seemed to have a way of doing, he made the whole world around them dissolve and become wholly unimportant. There lay only a Wendy in his eyes.  
  
Strictly monitoring her every expression, he shifted his hips, wriggling his still hardened appendage warily within her. The subtle movement reintroduced Wendy to the sweet sensations brought about when Hook had previously used his finger on her, and she closed her eyes and whimpered. The gates now lay wide open for Captain Hook.  
  
The urge to just take her with as much impassioned force as he had broken her was excruciating, but Hook was well aware the consequences should he displease her any further. And besides that, somehow he would prefer to relish these moments for as long as he could sustain them, lest it be his only chance. Thus when he re-entered her, he did so only a small portion at a time. It stung to be penetrated again, thus Wendy constricted herself out of sheer impulse. But she remembered Hook's previous advice to relax, to just let go and let be. She managed to find the wherewithal to release her hips, and when she did so, how easily then was he able to glide right inside. Hook pressed his hips into her, easing within her moist niche, holding tight for a moment, and then releasing, repeating the process inch by delicious inch, deeper and deeper, until his entire length finally lay warm and enveloped by her divine femininity.  
  
He resumed his elegant thrusts, grinding softly between her ambivalent thighs, and letting his face nuzzle into her neck. He cradled her head in the rook of his good arm, his fingers entwining within her hair, and he breathed his low, contented moans into her ear.  
  
A slight twinge remained as Hook throbbed inside her, but the pain was quickly overruled by an indescribable pleasure, and Wendy spread apart her knees as far as they could go to fully welcome the pirate captain. Her back curved beautifully as she by intuition tightened her hips against his thrusts, pushing up whilst he pushed down, and whimpering softly in response to the sensations that ensued.  
  
A short time anon, they fell into a perfect rhythm with each other. A sweet symphony of tensing and releasing, of delighted sighs urged into the night air, of fingertips and tongues blithely caressing and exploring. With each of the Captain's sumptuous undulations, Wendy moaned and squeezed the crest on his shoulder, so tightly she may very well have wrung the ink straight from his skin.  
  
Together their bodies moved as one like an ocean at low tide, each glorious wave surging then ebbing with a precision only the Moon could comprehend. Wendy could think of nothing but the waves, how her whole body felt of a hot liquid, never more alive and aware of each and every grain of her being. She had no fears, no worries; her ankle no longer ached; and above all else, she did not think of Peter Pan.  
  
Nay, the only inkling found to have crept across Wendy's cloudy mind was a brief pondering of how this was all to conclude. She wanted terribly for it to never end, and she was convinced that there was yet some other summit to be achieved in all this. She knew not what, but if her instincts were correct, she entrusted that the Captain would find it and coax it to the surface.  
  
Indeed, Hook was well aware the final mountain to be scaled this night. He had kept it stifled as long as he could before he recognized that it would not be held back any longer. Gradually, he started to pump harder and more rapidly into Wendy, his grunts becoming louder and more determined. Almost at once, Wendy again felt that sense of everything rushing toward her lower body, as if a thousand fingers dashing to scratch a delectable itch. And the itch intensified the more aggressively Hook thrust. They were two marooned souls frantically scouring a desert for anything to quench their thirst.  
  
Hook raised his head, pushing faster and faster, his teeth gnashed and brow drenched. Wendy's soft cries quickly morphed to frenzied panting as she strived to keep up with the Captain's sudden outburst. He propped himself up on his elbows for more leverage, bucking his groin into her with the ferocity of a wild beast – and truly did he not look as a virile lion with his dark mane of curls spilling about his shoulders and back as he roared to the stars.  
  
The lioness beneath him wrapped her arms about his strong neck, holding him closer and tighter in search of that which would extinguish the agonizing blaze between her legs. The glorious Unknown was imminent, they could both feel it. If only to just rub and push and gyrate more deeply and briskly to lure it to them and ignite their embers.  
  
Suddenly, Wendy's whole body became petrified, her eyes and mouth both round and large, and simultaneously did she see the Captain's face contort and his eyes glow a faint red just before he shut them. And with one last wail to the Heavens, he inclined his whole upper body toward the ceiling, lifting the affixed Wendy with him, and expelled a hot gush all through the girl's belly. Wendy's entire being shuddered, and she threw her head back and cried out, her climax intertwining with his in a dazzling cacophony above them. The Great Fire was both ignited and doused in tandem.  
  
And just then, as if someone had thrown a switch, everything stopped. Wendy slowly brought her head back to neutral and opened her eyes, and Hook did the same. The bedchamber materialized once more around them and fell into a sharp silence, only the echo of his and her staggered and exhausted breaths to imbue the void.  
  
Hook blinked the red from his eyes until they were able to focus clearly on the young maiden bound around his neck. They looked at each other for an extended instant, both searching for an indication of bearing or approval of what they had just done. Had he pleased her? Was she to tell him so?  
  
At last Hook slackened his whole body, resting atop Wendy as previously and withdrawing his spent phallus carefully from inside her. Wendy as good as collapsed onto her back whence finally released from the iron clutches of the Captain's masculinity, and she drew in a deep, richly earned breath. Hook leaned his dampened face to hers, searching for one more affirming kiss. She granted him this willingly, and only then was Hook able to himself respire a few replenishing breaths.  
  
Pressing his cheek against her forehead, he began to turn over onto his right side, keeping Wendy close to him, so that they lay before each other much as they had when they first encroached the bed together. He brushed the wet and matted strands of hair from her face and grinned broadly into her inquisitive eyes.  
  
"Thou art a woman now, Wendy," he proclaimed with a fair degree of pride, embracing her tightly, "And there's no going back."  
  
Indeed, Wendy thought to herself, something deeply profound and irreversible had just occurred in that little room, but the question of her womanhood still loomed about her like a chilly London fog. How could he be so sure when even she was so uncertain of it? Should she not feel different in some way? Alas, all she felt presently was a great fatigue. Between battling mermaids, escaping Indians, and her excursions with Hook that night, Wendy was entirely too depleted to sort out all these things now.  
  
Perhaps the morning's light would shine upon some epiphany, Wendy decided in her mind as she nestled her cheek to the Captain's warm chest, and she would think about it then.  
  
But, oh, not just yet... 


	15. A PRICE

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
Goodness, I was so worried about that last chapter, and it appears I needn't have been! Thanks for all your kind reviews! I just hope you'll continue to have the same sentiments down the road...  
  
NOTE: My next chapter may not be for a little while, as I need to really sit down and figure some stuff out and make sure it all fits together and whatnot. So, please be patient!  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...It's too expensive. Quotes from the 2003 film Peter Pan are the property of Universal Studios and P.J. Hogan and probably a whole buncha other people that are not me...  
  
Here's Chapter XV .....more comments s'il vous plaît! :-)  
  
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XV. A PRICE  
  
As we know, Captain Hook possessed a vast and impressive anthology of historical art from nearly every era up until his captivity in Neverland; A sundry array of creations within book after book, each more inspiring than the next. But amongst all these divine works, there lay missing one pretty little picture which he most assuredly would have wished to capture and keep for his prized collection. In acknowledgment of this, I shall paint this picture for you now...  
  
'Tis of a man reclining to one side upon a plush bed. He is of a wholly dark countenance, but upon closer inspection, we discern beneath the severity of his visage what we can only assume is a long sought-after bliss as he sleeps soundly. Clutched within his arms and curled securely against his chest is a young girl – nay, a young WOMAN, I believe – peacefully dozing as well, her small hands balled up snugly beneath her chin. His outside arm drapes over her back, fingertips just barely grazing her fair skin. Neither one has on a stitch of clothing, save for a small opal about the maiden's neck, and their bodies entwine so intricately that 'tis rather difficult to speculate where one should begin and the other might end.  
  
Of course, my meager brush strokes could do little justice for such a divine image, but I am quite confident that, should the Captain gaze upon it, he would be most pleased and immediately hang it up in his stateroom for showing off.  
  
I think I shall simply entitle this picture what it simply depicts: "James Hook and Wendy Darling".  
  
They had quite earned their repose that night, though they did not come to it straight off. Just before they settled into a slumber, the Captain had risen laboriously from the bed and crossed to the other side of the room to replace the depleted candle on his writing desk. From there, he strolled to the small washstand off to the side.  
  
Wendy had observed him keenly, thus getting her first full-length glimpse of Captain Hook in his rawest. He was quite a splendid specimen. Wendy had, of course, nary much with which to compare him other than those magnificent marble statues at the V&A in London – and could not the rugged pirate command an exhibit all his own. Regardless of all her naïveté, Wendy was easily able to recognize and appreciate what a fine man he was, even with the absence of a right hand.  
  
She watched as he retrieved a few items from the washstand and then turned back toward the bed. He had in his possession a small basin of water and a cloth. She could not imagine what these would be for – that is, until she shifted her torso a slight and noticed several red smears dotting the inside of her thighs and the bedsheets beneath her.  
  
She instantly became frightened and embarrassed, but Hook coolly assured her that it was perfectly natural as he climbed back upon the mattress before her. But what of his elegant bedsheets? Surely, she had ruined them.  
  
"Smee shall take care of it," Hook replied. 'Twould not be the first time either.  
  
With a heartening grin for the still ambivalent girl, Hook parted her sore legs and ever so carefully began to wash her. This was not something he was entirely wont to do, but this time he felt it necessary and did not deem it a bother in the least. Wendy lay back with one arm wearily slung over her forehead and absorbed the soothing feel of the cool, damp cloth against the raw, stinging flesh betwixt her thighs. The Captain proceeded with such a gentle diligence that she could scarcely conceive that this was the same man who had not so long ago tried to feed her to a crocodile.  
  
Both were able to stay any re-arousal from this process due to their both being so frightfully exhausted. Why, 'twas a wonder at all that the Captain managed to even stay upright as he cleansed Wendy, and not even the sight of her naked femininity before him in all its glory managed to fully pique his expended lusts anew.  
  
At one point, Wendy had casually peeked out from under her arm toward her handsome benefactor, and she saw that she was able to take note of the other tattoo adorning Hook's right shoulder... 'WALTER'.  
  
"What does it mean?" she asked.  
  
"Hm?" Hook looked up at her and followed the point of her outstretched finger to his arm. He grinned winsomely. "I wish I knew myself. I've quite forgotten." He scrutinized the large block letters upon his skin. "I imagine he must have been quite an impressionable fellow though."  
  
Wendy smiled. The Captain no doubt had a multitude of thrilling and adventurous tales overflowing from the tome of his existence.  
  
When he had finished his task, Hook leaned in and placed a light kiss upon the rook of Wendy's knee before rising again.  
  
Wendy curled back onto her side and looked up at Hook with an appreciative smile. "Thank you, James."  
  
The Captain's insides reeled at the sound of his name from her lips, and he could not help but smile rather giddily back at her – a bizarre image to be sure! He restored the basin and cloth to their proper places and promptly returned to the bed, taking Wendy in his arms once more. He embraced her tightly, as if in the hopes that her flesh would completely meld with his for good. Wendy buried her face into his broad chest and drew in the intoxicating scent of his unmistakable masculinity, dotted vaguely with hints of expensive cigars and the ocean. She imagined hazily that she must be in quite an enviable position. This was one of her final thoughts as she slipped off into a sound slumber. The Captain as well eventually drifted off, the first true and unperturbed sleep he had enjoyed in an unreckonable amount of time. Oh and how they both deserved this tranquility, each letting the other's steady breathing sway them gently asleep. Thus is how they came to be whence we find them now.  
  
Wendy was the first to stir, at about dawn. She roused rather suddenly by a troubled feeling in her solar plexus, strong enough to shake her from a deep, dreamless repose. Her eyes fluttered open and took a moment or two to focus on her surroundings and recall precisely where she was. She saw the rook of the Captain's brawny shoulder but a hair's breadth from her face, and her memory was duly jogged. She felt a happy little tingle rush briefly through her body in reaction to awakening safe in his arms. But she couldn't ignore the nagging inclination which had seized her from her slumber.  
  
The room was dreadfully silent, the musky scent of a stale passion lingering in the air, and was swathed in darkness save for the creeping sunrise outside the window. It cast such a curious hue upon the bedchamber, and piqued Wendy's notice at once.  
  
Cautiously, Wendy leaned back from the Captain's body, his skin still vaguely sticky with perspiration from their activities in the night, and she managed to prop herself upon one elbow and peer over his shoulder toward the window. She blinked the sleepiness from her eyes to see clearer beyond the glass panes into the waking Neverland outside. Indeed, did not the usually vibrant Sun seem a touch melancholy this morning. Wendy became concerned at this sight at once and decided she must take a closer inspection.  
  
She languidly rose to a seated stance, leaning on her hand. She let the Captain's good arm descend the length of her torso and fall quietly away, watching his sleeping face with a keen wariness. My, but he did appear as if an entirely different being whence he slept. He almost looked, dare I say it, saintly. She bestowed a tiny grin upon his still figure.  
  
Soon returning to the indistinct matters at hand, Wendy began to scour the room both for the final destination of her nightdress and also for a strategic escape route from the bed which would not disturb Hook. She spotted her clothing at the foot of the bed, so she decided to slither down hence. Carefully detangling her legs from Hook's, she skulked from the bed and rose to her feet.  
  
Immediately, she felt the soreness still troubling her thighs. But furthermore, she became aware of a dull ache in her abdomen, which bade her move about the room somewhat slumped. Oddly, though the only other pair of eyes in that room was presently shut, Wendy kept her arms in and concealing her modesty as she retrieved her crumpled nightdress from off the floor. It lay precariously between Hook's discarded claw and arm brace, a testimonial display of all the most intimate secrets which had been exchanged and shed betwixt these two souls the previous evening.  
  
Wendy pulled the nightdress over her head and fastened the buttons as she crept toward the door. She was wholly vigilant of not waking the Captain – in spite of all the kindnesses and gentility he had shown toward her, she remained well aware that he was still the most dangerous man history had ever known.  
  
Wendy winced as she unlatched the cumbersome lock on the door and the hinge squeaked as she opened it. She kept her eyes on Hook the entire time, until his serene, naked figure had vanished completely from the other side of the door. Now, Wendy made her way more briskly – or at least as briskly as she could manage with a troubled tummy, sore legs, and a bum ankle – through the stateroom to the main door. This she opened with an ample amount of care as well and stepped outside.  
  
She was met at once with a chilly breeze – such a strange thing to feel on a Neverland morning. But even more disturbing than the timing of it was its disposition. It was a stark, almost aloof, chill, one which she had only felt once before, on that very ship in fact...when she and the rest of the island had presumed Peter Pan to be dead.  
  
Oh! Peter!  
  
Neverland was completely intertwined with Peter Pan, and Wendy knew this. Why, the whole island would freeze over in his absence! But it was not frozen now, though it was clearly troubled. Certainly, Peter must be sick or in some sort of peril. Whatever be the case, Wendy felt strongly that she had to find out for certain at once. She could scarcely forgive herself if she were to disregard this and turn her back on the boy. Yes, he had seemingly turned his back on her, but two wrongs did not make a right, as her father always told her.  
  
The deck of the ship was quiet and abandoned. The crew had not yet risen from their quarters below, as per the Captain's orders, thus Wendy was able to make her way freely to the stern and prepare a small dingy for shore. To her own surprise, she was quite adept in doing this, and before long, she had lowered herself into the waters below and began paddling toward the beach.  
  
Once ashore, Wendy tied the dingy to the nearest palm and entered the waiting jungle. Her recollection of Peter's hideout was decidedly vague, but she did recall that it was quite near the Indian encampment. If only to find this, she could most assuredly find Peter. She need only to keep walking until it was so.  
  
And walk she did, for an excruciating length of time, through the dark and lonely forest. Eventually, she found her gait become less deliberate and her intentions that morning diminish with the rays of sunlight which struggled to make themselves known through the thick canopy of Neverland trees. The further away she progressed from the pirate ship, the more ambivalent her thoughts grew. Her whole skin still tingled with Captain Hook's touch, and with each step it seemed more and more unsettling, almost as if someone else and not her had indulged in all those ribald acts with him the previous night. She couldn't have possibly – she was a good English girl, and he was a despicable pirate. And good English girls simply did not go to bed with any man other than their betrothed. Suddenly, Wendy felt rather cheap.  
  
Wendy soon and thankfully came upon a small brook, and she scurried to its edge and began splashing water onto her face. Inevitably she found her reflection within the pool. Well, she certainly did not LOOK any different, aside from being a little ruffled. She peered deep into the water and tried to see what Hook had seen – was it truly this face he had gazed upon as he ravished her body? She brought a finger to her lips – had they really alighted upon his so hungrily? It all seemed too surreal, and any additional thoughts on the matter were quickly causing her stomach renewed distress.  
  
Wendy indignantly flitted the water's surface with her fingertips, obliterating her visage. This was not for what she had come into the forest. Rising to her feet and brushing off her dress, she scornfully reminded herself that it was Peter whom was her objective at this time. She would have ample opportunity to deal with Hook later. That is, if she did decide to return to the ship at all.  
  
The journey commenced in indeterminable banality until, at last, Wendy detected the scent of fire smoke. The Indian camp was near, and her pace picked up somewhat. Yes, things were beginning to look rather familiar to her now – these Magnolia bushes here, those tall grasses over there, and that knotty old tree just up ahead.  
  
Wendy's tread slowed. That tree was ever so much more than just an indicative landmark – it was a monument of memories. This was the lair of the fairies, where Peter had taken her to observe one of their grand wedding ceremonies. A more magical moment there could not have been before or since. But alas, the hostile way in which the branches blew in that unusual morning breeze stifled all the charm of this reverie. As Wendy drew closer, she vividly saw a most unfortunate scene play out before her – of a boy running frightened from a little girl's comforting touch.  
  
"Why do you spoil everything?" the boy chided her. "I taught you to fight and to fly; what more could there be?"  
  
"There is so much more," was the girl's tearful reply.  
  
"What?" the boy demanded, advancing on her in frustration. "What more is there?"  
  
The girl wavered a moment. "I don't know. I think it becomes clearer when you grow up."  
  
Clearer indeed, Wendy thought to herself as she watched the quarrelling children dissolve into a dispassionate wind. She was well enough aware now as to what "more" there could be than a simple dance among the fairies and a few coy stolen glances. Hook had made this sufficiently clear for her, and finally Wendy understood her own exasperation from that night. All those lurid and wonderful things which she had done with Hook she had subconsciously wished to share with Peter some day, when they grew older – IF they grew older – together. Neither of them could have understood this at the time, but the undercurrent must have been there, for it scared them both and sent Peter flying off into the night. 'Twas the first of several occasions that he would abandon her. And even then, who had it been that appeared out of the darkness to try and pick up the pieces for her, even if it was not entirely sincere at the time?  
  
Wendy put a hand to the tree and was consoled to feel the bark still warmly pulsating with the tiny lives inside. She began to encircle the full, broad circumference of the lair, striving desperately to keep her thoughts and memories light-hearted. She believed she heard an erratic hum originating from the opposite side of the tree – perhaps a cluster of early-rising worker fairies emerging for the day. Oh, how lovely to see fairies again.  
  
Wendy gaily crossed to the other end of the great tree, but there were no fairies to be found. To her great astonishment, she had instead come across the curled up figure of a sleeping boy, nestling betwixt the gnarled tree roots. It was Peter!  
  
He had been the one making the noise, mumbling restlessly in his sleep. Wendy approached him stealthily and knelt down by his head. She would have liked to take him in her arms and comfort him as he wrestled with his nightmares, as she used to do in days past, but she was terribly afraid that he would straight away detect the essence of his mortal enemy still clinging to her skin. So instead she let her fingers gently play within his fair, tousled hair, watching his impish little face as it contorted in wistful torment.  
  
"No..." she heard him mutter. "Don't......Wendy......get away! Get away......  
  
She seized her hand away at once and glared at him. Why, even in his sleep how he rejected her! Suddenly, he began to thrash about most disturbingly, and Wendy lurched backward to avoid his slumbering wrath. Perhaps she should not have come out there at all. She started to her feet, and just then, Peter's torso shot upwards with a yelp and his eyes flew open.  
  
Wendy, taken off guard, stumbled over a tree root and fell backwards onto her bottom upon the grass. Peter's attention darted toward her at once, and he blinked tightly. Was he still quite asleep?  
  
"Wendy..." He spoke her name as if not altogether surprised at her presence.  
  
Wendy grappled to a more upright and ladylike position. "I'm sorry, Peter. I hadn't meant to wake you."  
  
"I wasn't asleep," Peter insisted, folding his arms. ""I was...merely checking my eyelids for holes is all!"  
  
Wendy tried to keep her brow from furrowing disparagingly. "If you say so."  
  
"So, it's true, you are still here." His voice was terribly grave.  
  
"Yes," Wendy replied. "You say it as if you already knew."  
  
"Not really. I was only told so, but I didn't know for sure myself."  
  
"Who told you?"  
  
"Tink," Peter said. "She told me so."  
  
Of course she did, the little muckraker, Wendy thought to herself. "Oh, I see."  
  
"What are you doing out here then?" Peter asked suspiciously.  
  
Now that she had heard the question, Wendy knew not quite how to answer. "Well...I...I thought perhaps you had taken ill..."  
  
"Ill? Me?" Peter scoffed smugly. "Never!"  
  
"The sky looked rather bleak this morning, so I only presumed..."  
  
Peter tossed a careless glance upward and shrugged. "I hadn't noticed."  
  
"No, I guess not." Wendy paused a moment. "So, why are YOU out here, Peter?"  
  
He took a step backward, almost defensively. "Why shouldn't I be out here? Am I not allowed to go where I please?"  
  
"I wouldn't ask, only it isn't like you to leave yourself so at risk as to fall asleep in the middle of the forest."  
  
"I was not asleep," Peter reiterated. "And if you must know, I came out here to ask the fairies if it was true that you were still on the island, but they were not yet awake when I arrived."  
  
Wendy figured his reason for being at that tree had something to do with her. "Oh. Do the mermaids still lie to you then?"  
  
Peter's face became severe. "Yes, it appears they do."  
  
"I'm sorry." She wasn't really, but she knew how loftily Peter regarded the mermaids.  
  
The awkward pair stood in an icy silence for a few moments before Peter's impatience got the best of him.  
  
"You are staying aboard the Jolly Roger then?"  
  
Wendy cast her eyes away. "Yes."  
  
"With Hook."  
  
She nodded, hoping he did not notice her turn pink.  
  
Peter took a bothered step forward. "Why?"  
  
Her eyes met his quickly. "'Tis only until I get better...when my injuries are properly healed."  
  
He gave her a slapdash once-over. "You look fine to me."  
  
Wendy gazed down and rotated her bum ankle, taking note of the ease with which she did it, and she suddenly felt rather sad. "Yes. I imagine I shall be leaving soon."  
  
"Good!"  
  
She looked up at him, hurt. "'Good'? Is that all you have to say about it?"  
  
"The sooner you get away from Hook the better!"  
  
"Peter, I really don't think you understand..."  
  
"What's there to understand? Hook is a fiend!"  
  
"He's not!" Wendy heard herself blurt out.  
  
Peter only stared at her, jaw agape. I say, had she actually left the Boy speechless?  
  
Wendy exhaled wearily and sat upon the nearest true root. "Of course, I mean...I know he is a depraved pirate and that he is your sworn nemesis and all..."  
  
"So why do you stay with him?" Peter asked, crouching down before her.  
  
Wendy searched laboriously for the proper words. "It's a rather complex matter. He's a very sad man, Peter. Quite lonely. And, I guess that my being there makes him happy. If only a little."  
  
"Why should you care if he is happy or not?"  
  
"'Tis a fair enough question," Wendy sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable. "I suppose it's all part of the riddle of growing up. One comes to embrace such complicated notions...like sympathy...compassion...forgiveness."  
  
Peter remained unmoved. "I have never heard those words."  
  
"No, I imagine you have not," Wendy responded quietly. "Not in this place."  
  
She flung such a frightfully disapproving look into the Neverland winds all about her, and Peter's stomach knotted. He had so often seen that look before, on the faces of all the grown-ups and disbelievers who would cast off their children's whimsies of his beautiful little island as nothing more than juvenile ramblings. It sickened him to see that look tarnish the lovely face of his Wendy now. And he wanted to cry.  
  
"Did he give you that?" Peter asked quickly, pointing to the little opal about Wendy's neck.  
  
She glanced down. "Yes, he did."  
  
Peter played off nonchalance as he recalled his exchange of kisses with Wendy years before. "Did you give him something in return?"  
  
Wendy's heart skipped a beat. "Erm...well, yes, I suppose I did."  
  
"Was it just as pretty?"  
  
Wendy grew quite uncomfortable. She should have just lied. "Well, he seemed to appreciate it greatly."  
  
Peter let his head droop sadly. "Was it very important to you?"  
  
This was about all she could take. "Peter, I don't know. It doesn't matter anyway, for it belongs to him now. All right?"  
  
"What was it then?" Peter persisted.  
  
"Alas," Wendy exhaled heavily, shaking her head. "That you must never know, Peter."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
She gazed at him sadly. "You are never meant to."  
  
Peter opened his mouth to say something more, but his words were stayed forever upon the sound of Wendy's name suddenly being bellowed from within the brush.  
  
They both knew at once to whom that voice belonged.  
  
"Oh dear," Wendy breathed, her whole body overcome in anxiousness, and she shot straight to her feet.  
  
Peter rose as well when she did. "Why can't you tell me, Wendy?"  
  
"Peter, listen," she began hastily, "I simply cannot explain these things to you. Now, you must go!"  
  
"But I want to know! Please!"  
  
"I can't! Now hurry! Before he sees you!"  
  
"I am not afraid of him," Peter glowered.  
  
"Peter," Wendy grasped his arm tightly, as a mother scolding a child, and he blanched at once. "If he sees us together, it may very well not be YOU whom he enacts his wrath upon."  
  
He went mum, knowing her words to be veritable.  
  
"Wendy!" came another demanding holler from the jungle.  
  
"Peter, please!" Wendy begged in a loud whisper.  
  
"Fine!" Peter shot back.  
  
And with that, Peter wrestled himself from her unpleasant grip and dashed straight upward into the trees, disappearing into the shadowy thicket. Quite the nerve of him to be so affronted by her rebuff, wouldn't you say? When Wendy saw and heard no more of him, she turned to face her pursuer.  
  
What Wendy did not know, however, is that the insolent boy went nowhere. He flew high within the trees and perched there, watching intently and unassumingly.  
  
"Wendy?" Hook yelled once more. He was considerably closer.  
  
Wendy straightened herself and tried to calm her nerves. "I'm here!"  
  
In no time at all, Wendy saw the bushes before her rustle and shake, and from them emerged the Captain. Upon seeing him again, Wendy at once grew sheepish and blushed.  
  
He was dressed rather haphazardly, having just thrown on his trousers, shirtsleeves, boots, and, of course, his hook. He carried a lantern and his rapier at his side. He hadn't even combed his hair.  
  
"Wendy, what the devil are you doing way out here?" he asked sternly.  
  
She wrung her hands nervously. "I...I was just...taking in some air."  
  
"From the opposite side of the island?"  
  
She shrugged with innocence. The very sight of him made her skin tingle anew. "I suppose I walked farther than I had thought."  
  
Hook eyed her dubiously. He wished not to distrust her.  
  
"How did you know I was here?" Wendy asked, hoping to alleviate some of the attention from herself.  
  
"My onshore watchmen told me they had seen you venture into this part of the forest," Hook replied quite easily.  
  
She had no idea he had spies within the island. What else might they have seen and told him? "Oh."  
  
"Is everything quite all right?"  
  
"Perfectly!" she insisted with a forced smile.  
  
The pirate's countenance grew rather dark, and he took a step toward her.  
  
"Don't lie to me, Wendy," he warned. "Not you."  
  
"I'm not lying," she stumbled hastily, wanting to flee. "Truly, I just needed to get away for a spell."  
  
Hook erected his chest to keep it from slouching. "Get away...from me," he stated with a stoic gruff.  
  
Wendy rued her words at once. "Oh! That's not what I meant at all!"  
  
"I imagined it would come to this," he grumbled as if not having heard her contention. He turned gloomily toward the fairy tree and set his lantern down upon a perch in the bark.  
  
"Come to what?"  
  
"I expected, sooner or later, you'd come to have your doubts about...all that..."  
  
"Oh, no," Wendy replied, a blush overtaking her. She fiddled with her opal bashfully. "Actually, I found it to be all rather lovely."  
  
Hook tore himself from away from the tree and started at her brusquely, his eyes grabbing hold of Wendy tighter than his arms ever could. She wished to recoil but her feet were of stone.  
  
"I don't take kindly to being placated, my dear."  
  
Her heart beat wildly as the menacing Captain stood tall and dark before her. "I am doing no such thing, I swear it."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No. How can I convince you?"  
  
He flickered an eyebrow. "I know of one way..."  
  
He closed the gap between them until nary a sliver of daylight could get through, but he did naught more. Her skin burned bright pink as his insinuation dawned soundly upon her. He said nothing, but his entire aura entreated her – nay, DARED her to consent to the challenge swaggering in his eyes, and there was never any denying those eyes.  
  
Wendy struggled to moderate her pounding heart as she brought her hands up to rest upon Hook's shoulders, and with a last faint grin, so offered her lips to his. He accepted them gamely and enfolded his arms tight about the petite waist of his young mistress.  
  
High up amongst the shrouded trees, a pair of green eyes were set ablaze.  
  
Wendy had more than attested to her earnest, but a little extra persuasion surely couldn't hurt, Hook thought. He sighed ravenously whilst Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him yet closer. As he deepened their embrace, thrashing his greedy tongue against hers, he felt her knee and foot begin to hike up the side of his leg. In turn, his impish hand slowly crept up over her stomach and affixed securely to her breast, giving it a luscious squeeze. He could feel her stimulated little protrusion clearly through her nightdress against his palm. 'Twould not have been beneath him to take the girl right then and there in the middle of the jungle if he so wished to, and she would be far too rapt by him to contest it.  
  
By now, their furtive observer had seen enough. Suddenly, from out of the thicket of trees above came zipping by a small flash, which hurtled toward the fairy's den and speared the hallowed trunk just inches from Hook's and Wendy's head.  
  
The amorous couple ceased all immodesties at once – Wendy gasping at the intrusion and Hook spinning round with his claw at the ready toward the faint rustling of leaves overhead.  
  
"Who's there?!" he bellowed angrily. "Come out and show yourself, coward! Who art thou?!"  
  
"Peter..." came Wendy's hushed voice from behind him.  
  
"Peter?" Hook growled, turning back toward her. "Where?!"  
  
Wendy reached up and plucked the Boy's knife from the tree and held the brutal instrument in her delicate hands. Her heartbeat went promptly from racing to a cold standstill.  
  
"Oh no..."  
  
She threw the dagger to the ground. "I must go to him..."  
  
"What?" The Captain hurried to her side. "Go to Peter? Don't be absurd!"  
  
"I have to try and explain," Wendy muttered, wandering toward the thicket.  
  
"He warrants no explanation!" Hook hissed, following her, but she paid no heed to him and started off into the forest. He caught her elbow coarsely. "Wendy, no!"  
  
He yanked her to face him, and she gasped.  
  
"He must understand!" she exclaimed, an acute resolution simmering within her.  
  
Hook gripped her tighter. "I forbid it!"  
  
"Forbid it!" Wendy blurted. "Who be you to 'forbid' anything of me?"  
  
He felt his ire mount at once. "If you go to him, Wendy, I swear I'll – "  
  
"You'll what?" Wendy cut him off briskly. "Kill me? Well, if you're planning to do so, I wish you would get it over with now, because, frankly, I can stand the suspense no longer, Captain."  
  
The way in which she spat his title was like a punch to his chest, even more so than her insinuation that he was plotting her imminent demise. The mere thought of it – and the fact that she would think it of him – bade him loosen his grip upon her at once. He stared long into her eyes and saw nothing but an unshakable firmness. For once, she had him cornered with no escape.  
  
"I will give you until sundown, my dear," he stated coolly. "You may have your little chat with Pan, but you will be back on my ship by sundown."  
  
"I will come back to you, I promise," Wendy avowed dourly. Time would only tell if she was to break this promise.  
  
Hook hovered over her darkly. "I have no desire to harm you, let alone kill you, Wendy. But if you force me to return to this jungle to find you, I cannot be held responsible for what my hook might have to say on the matter. Understood?"  
  
She was quite determined not to let him believe that he frightened her. "Yes."  
  
And without a word further, she tore away from his relentless eyes and scurried off into the trees, leaving the Captain quite alone.  
  
She had very little far to go before she heard, just ahead of her, a soft groaning like a beast in distress, and with a few more strides, she came suddenly upon Peter. He was doubled over upon the ground on his hands and knees as if injured. Sobs wracked his entire little body.  
  
Without thinking, Wendy spouted rhetorically: "Peter, what's wrong?"  
  
"How could you?!" Peter wailed.  
  
"Oh, please, let me try to explain – "  
  
He turned over wretchedly, his face twisted with angst. "How could you do that?! Why, Wendy?!"  
  
"It's not what you think!"  
  
"You gave him my thimble!" Peter cried, staggering to his feet. "You said it belonged only to me, always!"  
  
"And so it does!" Wendy pleaded. "Peter, I did NOT give Hook your thimble!"  
  
"LIAR!" His voice cracked horribly. "I saw it!"  
  
"The circumstance was entirely different!"  
  
"Different how?"  
  
Wendy wrung her hands desperately. "Oh dear, I find it so impossible to find the right words to explain it to you..."  
  
"Just tell me!" Peter screeched, stamping his feet. "Tell me why you thimbled Hook! Explain to me how it's different from when you thimbled me!"  
  
Tears began spilling from Wendy's eyes. "Oh, Peter...I honestly don't want you to know."  
  
He advanced on her with a furious impatience. "Why not?"  
  
"Because...you're so careless and innocent, and I want you to stay so forever."  
  
"Oh, ROT!" Peter spewed hatefully.  
  
Wendy was becoming quite fed up with his impertinence. "You know, Peter, none of this is really any business of yours in the first place!"  
  
He sprang afore suddenly, and she thought he might strike her. "When something of mine is taken from me, am I not permitted to question it?"  
  
But Wendy only shook her head and began to retreat. "You could never understand..."  
  
"Make me understand! I want to know!" He started towards her threateningly. "Explain to me why I have this terrible pain in my belly! Tell me why I feel so sickened when I see you with him! And why on earth did he touch you HERE – "  
  
Suddenly, his small hand lurched forward and clamped down upon Wendy's right breast. Almost instantaneously, it seemed all the Heavens above cried out with the Boy's grief, and this, even more than Peter's brash gesture, caused Wendy to gasp. Her eyes shot skyward, but Peter's remained affixed to her face.  
  
When at last Wendy's attention fell earthbound once more, she swiftly smacked the Boy's hand away.  
  
"Peter, you mustn't!"  
  
"Why?" he asked intently.  
  
"Well," Wendy struggled, prudishly closing herself off with her arms, "for one thing, you did not ask my permission!"  
  
Peter's tone grew shrewd. "Why do I need your permission?"  
  
Regrettably scandalized, Wendy retorted: "'Tis a privilege to handle a lady in such a fashion!"  
  
Peter coolly straightened, and an acerbic smirk crept across his lips. "A 'privilege' you should extend to Hook, but not me."  
  
That was that; he had caught her on the spot, and she was powerless to respond. When he saw she had no answer, his chin fell to his chest and he sighed heavily.  
  
"I never should have brought you here."  
  
She could not quite find her voice until she too averted her eyes from him. "Well...I did insist that you bring me..."  
  
"No," Peter cut in. "I mean, the first time."  
  
Wendy felt her chest cave in.  
  
"I should never have taken you away with me. I should have just reclaimed my shadow and left. You've caused nothing but trouble since I met you."  
  
"You don't mean that."  
  
No, he did not mean it, not really. And yet it he believed it as truth. He shook his head gloomily and began to wander away from her, but after a few steps he stopped.  
  
"You know," he began, his back to her. "Tink told me that...she saw you take your dress off in front of Hook...that you let him look at you like that."  
  
Now 'twas Wendy's turn to be sickened. That was not the candle flickering which she thought she saw in Hook's bedchamber after all...  
  
Peter turned halfway to her, the very picture of desolation. "I told her to stop making up stories and to be gone from me at once. But it's true, isn't it?"  
  
That miserable little pixie. Wendy could only stand there amid her own shame and hang her head.  
  
At this silent confirmation, Peter felt his rage reawaken, and he knew if he stayed there a moment longer, he may very well do something horrible to her. With a burdensome effort, Peter abruptly leapt into the air and hovered among the branches.  
  
"Go back to the ship, Wendy," he sneered, hissing her name like a blasphemy as his hand entangled within his vines. "Your captain is waiting for you."  
  
In one swift movement, he flicked his arm toward Wendy, cuffing her in the shoulder with something small and hard, and dashed off into the darkness.  
  
Wendy watched him disappear through tear-soaked eyes. She must have remained in that spot, staring unbelievably into the trees, for the duration of the morning. When she finally bent down to retrieve the object which Peter had hurled at her, she did so almost mechanically.  
  
She was too numb to react as she gazed down at the tiny silver thimble in the palm of her hand. 


	16. IN A NEW LIGHT

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
I'm baaaaaack! Wheeeeeeewwwwww! Doncha just HATE writer's block?! LOL! I know I do! I can't believe this took so long to write! Oh well...It's here now and that's all that matters! sigh Hope it was worth the wait.... :-P (And I can't promise that the next chapter won't take just as long...please bear with me!)  
  
Another MEGAWARNING for you younger and more sensitive readers out there – more NC-17 stuff in here, and decidedly "dirtier" too, but as always, it serves a specific purpose. I do not write smut just for smut's sake.  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...but, ooh, the possibilities...wringing hands (heheheh)  
  
Here's Chapter XVI.... More comments please, good or bad! :-)  
  
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XVI. IN A NEW LIGHT  
  
She wished to hear none of it.  
  
As she climbed her way onto the stern of the Jolly Roger, she was fully cognizant of the ebbing sunlight, but she wanted none of the Captain's vitriol. His words were as foreseeable as the approaching night, as she had played them over and again in her head on her journey back to the ship, and she had no interest in listening to them aloud. No more scoldings, no more admonishments. She'd had quite enough of that.  
  
It was high time to embrace the fate which he had handed to her and sculpt it into a practical reality. She was no longer innocent little Wendy Darling. That pretense was quite over.  
  
Amid a web of masts and rigging she stood obscured, her eyes settling upon the black figure reclining at the bow, spyglass in hand, searching the horizon for his wayfaring maiden. Though as well as keeping watch for Wendy's return, the Captain himself observed the peculiar mood hanging over the island with a silent intrigue. He sat back in a chair, his feet propped up against the railing before him and his spyglass ever at the ready should something of interest stir within these stagnant surroundings. That strange, frigid breeze danced amongst his inky curls, and the twilight's melancholy glow made his eyes to sparkle like two blue beacons. At that moment, he was very much the epitome of the dashing heroes about whom Wendy had read in those bawdy novels.  
  
At least, her mind's eye would favor him so.  
  
Wendy crept deftly across the ship's deck so as not to be noticed by the handful of pirates and watchers milling about. There needn't be any clamor as to her return. She would present herself once again to the Captain on her own terms.  
  
Hook had not wavered an inch during her entire approach, as if locked frozen in a helplessness which he could not comprehend. When he had re- embarked on his ship some hours earlier, he solemnly relayed to Smee the episode in the jungle, to which his bosun cautiously asked:  
  
"Cap'n, forgive me, but...if you knew Wendy was going after Pan, why didn't you follow 'er back to his hideout?"  
  
The Captain only stood unblinking at the old man, his face devoid of all expression, as if he had not heard the question. Thus was when he picked up his spyglass and settled upon the bow for the remainder of the daylight.  
  
And there he remained, as ever unbrokenly, as Wendy strolled forward behind him. Not until she was well within his periphery did he take notice of her, his head darting abruptly in her direction.  
  
"Wendy..." He sat forward as if preparing to stand, but he was stayed immediately by Wendy's hand, which swept up to his mouth and alighted there decisively. With not another word, Wendy took the spyglass from him, setting it aside, then swung a leg over him and perched upon his lap. And before Hook could even think a thing, Wendy took his face in her hands and kissed him feverishly.  
  
The Captain had not truly planned on reprimanding Wendy very harshly for her tardiness, but if he had, even then he would have been swayed quite easily by Wendy's sudden and delightfully bold gesture. He pulled her in closer to him. And though Wendy was evidently still quite green when it came to these adult matters, Hook thoroughly appreciated her efforts nonetheless.  
  
When at last she liberated him from her attack to take a breath, Hook could not quite help but smirk.  
  
"Well, well, well..." he chuckled, endlessly amused and fairly smug at what he considered the girl's inevitable want for him.  
  
But as I have said, Wendy wished not a word from him this night – especially not any loutish gloating. She quieted him straight away with her lips, allowing herself to listen only to his greedy sighing. And so he let his hand do his talking instead, gliding underneath her skirt and up her bare thigh, and it quickly became Wendy's turn to sigh as he dug his thumb into the crease where her hip met her pelvic bone. She was sparked at once, and her arms constricted around his neck.  
  
She'd returned to the state whence she found herself before Peter had interrupted them with his juvenile tantrum in the forest – on the cusp of barely contained rapture at Hook's overbearing will, and she squeezed the Captain's thighs tightly betwixt her own. If he did not take her immediately, to rub out that torturously fantastic itch inside her which he had induced the previous night, she knew she would go absolutely mad. And the telltale expanding beneath Hook's britches told them both loud and clear that her satiation would be imminent.  
  
However, Hook suddenly pulled her away and sat forward.  
  
"Not here, darling," he whispered huskily.  
  
If not there, then somewhere – anywhere – and soon, was Wendy's thinking. Taking the pirate by the hand, she rose and lifted him to his feet as well. She started anxiously aft, but Hook stood firm, practically yanking her back in place. This made her instantly worried – did he no longer want her? The truth of it was, Hook could not very well have his dogs see him being dragged about the ship by a female as if some obedient pet. Though he could not very well disclose this to Wendy either, for he was quite conscious of her feelings about Pride. But he would have to come up with something to ease that nasty crease presently in her forehead.  
  
Forcing a pleasant smile, Hook strolled toward the perplexed girl. "A lady should never be made to escort a gentleman."  
  
He held his elbow out to her graciously, and he could see the relief take over her person as she took his arm with glee. Their promenade across the ship and toward his cabin commenced thusly. The Captain opened the door and showed his guest inside, but before stepping in himself, he shot a strict look to his watchmen in the crow's nest. The put-upon subordinates imagined their shift would be a long one this night.  
  
Scarcely before he had time to latch the cabin door behind him, Wendy had the Captain pinned to the pine and smothered in her blistering kisses. Though not terribly inconvenienced by this, Hook nonetheless tried to move himself and the girl toward his bedchamber, and he was right astonished at the effort this took! This diminutive pillar of passion, biting at his neck and chest, would barely let him budge. They had gotten no further than just beyond the alcove of the entrance toward the foot of Hook's fainting couch when suddenly Wendy clasped his collar and, with all her might, shoved the strapping pirate onto his back upon the plush settee.  
  
Normally, and not unexpectedly, Hook's standard reaction to such an affront would be to immediately spring back up madly thrashing his claw. But it was quite the contrary now, as he found himself immensely sparked by this fiery blossom bursting forth from her hitherto prim and reticent bud.  
  
For all he could distinguish, she might have very well been out to slit his throat. Perhaps he should keep his hook at hand yet. Either way, he would thoroughly enjoy the fight.  
  
A fiendish grin spread across his lips as she climbed atop him once more, and he sat up hastily to meet her, devastating her with ravenous kisses of his own. He pressed his lips vigorously to every accessible patch of skin, all the while his hand temptingly lingering beneath her hemline. Wendy was dire to feel his mouth upon her breasts again. Without waiting for his instigation, she stood to her knees and wrenched her meddlesome nightdress from her body and hurled it to the floor. Both her hands came to the side of Hook's head, and she eagerly inclined her chest to his face, enticing the pirate with her nipple. But he would not take it straight away, only wickedly teasing her by flicking at it with the tip of his tongue. He chuckled softly and delighted at her wretched whimpering for his touch until at last he took it heartily betwixt his teeth, at which time she gave out such a euphoric moan, and very soon her flesh was so splendidly awash in Hook's sultry breath.  
  
Without thinking – though, truly, there was little room for thinking at this juncture – Wendy's fingers once more found Hook's ruff, and with one adrenaline-fueled rush, she tore his shirt open down the middle. Thus was when Hook's primal instincts finally ignited, and in a silvery flash, his claw darted toward Wendy's throat, but with an equally inherent gasp was Wendy able to catch his talon at the base just before it buried itself into her defenseless flesh.  
  
All became tense and still at once, save for their staggered breathing, as both pairs of eyes fixed heavily on the menacing appendage at the end of Hook's right arm. Soon their respective gazes found each other's, and it was quite evident the sentiments plaguing their minds.  
  
Had they really not yet conquered these emotive hurtles? Did she still not trust him? Was he truly harboring mortal tendencies toward her?  
  
Hook rued his haste at once, and his eyes begged for Wendy to believe that he would never cause her harm. Oh, and how she longed to believe him. She needed to. If he were to turn on her in the end as well, the desolation would be unbearable, and she would rather he go ahead and tear her to bits than have to endure any more of it.  
  
She loosened her grip on the base of his claw, eyeing it sharply as it continued its path toward her skin, only at a thicker pace. Her eyes shut tight as the cruel tip pressed softly into her cheek. She said a silent prayer that, whatever he was planning to do, he would be quick and merciful.  
  
She felt the blade glide almost liquid-like toward her mouth, where it outlined the shape of her lip. A quiver shot down her spine, though even she could not determine if this was in fear or pleasure...or perhaps both working hand in hand. Now the claw moved over her chin and across her jawline, then in such a wonderfully perilous proximity to her jugular. She arced her neck back, as if offering her throat for the cutting, and breathed deeply as the claw slithered ever further down to her dampened collarbone. Her hand still upon its base, she guided it over her breast, gasping as the Captain tweaked her vulnerable nipple with the blade. Downward still the horrible instrument progressed, and Wendy's whole being reeled at the sensation of the cold steel against her burning flesh. At the last it came over her stomach, grazing her belly button, then farther below, until Hook pressed it flat and taut against her femininity.  
  
She could put it off no longer. Swiping his hook aside, both her hands snatched at his trousers, tugging desperately at the buttons. Her zeal was wholly contagious, and Hook fervently aided her endeavor. It seemed an agonizing eternity before his britches gaped open and his swollen manhood was finally liberated. Nary an additional moment could be wasted now. Placing her hands firmly upon his shoulders, griping his torn shirtsleeves, Wendy rose to her knees. With the skilled guidance of Hook's hand and claw grasping her hips, she lowered herself slowly onto his starving erection. Old pains were reawakened as he slid into her, but this was quite naught compared with the ache in her very soul for his intoxicating possession of her body. She gasped sharply with each swivel of her hips to gain more of him, and Hook let out several strenuous grunts as he tried in vain to buck his hips into her.  
  
Tears began to well up in Wendy's eyes as she continued to work her way onto him fully, to find that magnificent itch once more, but she could do neither. Why was it not happening? What was wrong?  
  
And then, Hook shut his eyes and fell onto his back upon the couch, taking Wendy with him. His head had barely hit the cushion before an impish tingle suddenly engulfed Wendy's lower half. Ah, there it was! Resting her palms against Hook's stomach, she straightened slightly and grappled to hold onto the sensation. She rocked her hips violently, commanding her body to swallow every last inch of him.  
  
She saw through her inflamed eyes the Captain arch his back and cry out beneath her. Oh, was this how he had seen her the previous evening? Only now, he was at her mercy. She watched him writhe and quiver against the couch with a wicked smile, and her fingers found their way to the leather strap across his heaving chest and wrapped themselves around it for leverage. As if an Amazon championing a mighty steed, Wendy gyrated grandly against him, completely bathing him in her sodden passion. She leaned her head back and wailed triumphantly into the Neverland heavens, to Mother Nature herself in defiance of her indolent progression, to her officious and repressive parents – especially that blasted Aunt Millicent – but most of all to the Boy who would not ever grow up.  
  
'I never should have brought you here...'  
  
She guffawed.  
  
'Do you even remember how to fly?'  
  
I fly now, boy, on my own!  
  
'Your captain is waiting for you...'  
  
To lift me up from whence you have thrown me down!  
  
'A privilege you should extend to Hook, but not me...'  
  
You would never know how to appreciate it!  
  
'I can no longer save you...'  
  
Who needs it anyway?  
  
'I think it is your biggest pretend...'  
  
No more!  
  
Let it be known here and now, she wanted to scream, that Wendy Moira Angela Darling is NOT a child. She requires no chivalrous rescuing, no enigmatic little gamin to hold her hand. She is the true Center of the Universe. She is the queen of her own destiny.  
  
Wendy Darling is a WOMAN.  
  
A spark, like electricity, shot up from the tips of Wendy's toes all the way to where her and Hook's bodies joined, and hence it surged forward into the Captain's flesh as if lightning, triggering such a thunderous tempest throughout him the likes of which he had never known in all his centuries worth of conquests. Wave after wave crashed into both their beings to their very cores, and Hook was certain he felt even his ship lurch in reply. Aye, all the gods above spoke at once in humbled admiration of this truly inspiring show of concord, and awed they were even further as Hook sent the gasping torrent charging back to his loins, pitching upward sharply and exploding within Wendy in a hot geyser of ecstasy. A finer show mighty Thor himself could not have achieved.  
  
As the final embers of their splendor fizzled and dissipated overhead, Wendy collapsed onto Hook's chest, brushing her lips sweetly against his sweat-beaded skin. Hook lay depleted but not without smirking poise.  
  
"Good show, my dear," he cooed lavishly, allowing himself to slip with grace from Wendy's body.  
  
She did not reply, her mouth instead carrying on in its gentle study of his chest. Reaching inside his shirtsleeve, she unlatched the strap of his harness, allowing him at last to draw in an unimpeded breath. She kissed softly the reddened impression it had left on his flesh. Although thoroughly sapped herself, her benevolence seemingly knew nary a bound as she implored the Captain upright in order that she could remove his spoilt shirt and oppressive brace. In kind, Hook kicked off the last of his trousers, and they were thus able to fully recline together anew as Nature bore them.  
  
The finished arm of the blithely dozing pirate held Wendy in its crook, the mangled one resting on his belly. Its mass of scars soon found themselves under the fond caress of the girl's wandering fingertips. Hook withstood the urge to deny her, allowing himself wholly to accept her touch upon his horrendous defect. They remained in this tranquility for a time, until Wendy, watching closely her fingers outline the unpigmented grooves carved into his stump, could hold her tongue no longer.  
  
"James..."  
  
His eyes remained closed, but the side of his mouth lifted at her utterance of his name again.  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"How did he do it?"  
  
He opened one eye. "How did who do what?"  
  
"Peter...how did he take your hand?"  
  
A bothered snort met her question promptly. "Oh, must we taint these dear moments with talk of him?"  
  
"But I feel I must know," Wendy beseeched, raising her head from his chest. "Please tell me, and I promise I shan't ever broach the subject again."  
  
And how a slave he was to her beseeching. Besides, he considered, this could prove to be a terrific opportunity to lure Wendy against that brat once and for all.  
  
"Very well, my sweet," Hook acceded. "If you really must know."  
  
Satisfied, Wendy laid her head once more upon his chest, settling in for the undoubtedly gripping tale.  
  
"I suppose that in order that I should convey the story correctly," Hook began, "I should first impart to you a bit of knowledge which you may find rather unexpected..."  
  
"Yes?" Wendy asked eagerly.  
  
"Despite what you might have assumed, 'twas I who inhabited the Neverland long before Peter Pan ever stepped his grubby little feet upon it."  
  
"Truly?" Wendy lifted her head again.  
  
"Oh yes," he replied. "You affect surprise now, but methinks you might have known it all along."  
  
"How so?"  
  
He stared off wistfully. "Tell me, darling; prior to your first journey to Neverland, when you would regale your brothers and anyone at all who would listen with your thrilling and legendary stories, of whose adventures would you recount?"  
  
Wendy searched her muddled past. "Why...yours!"  
  
"Aye...Hook's," he grinned with a nod. "You had nary in inkling of Pan's existence until he had alighted your windowsill that fateful night. But always did you know of Hook."  
  
"Yes, I suppose I did," Wendy said, laying her head back down. "How extraordinary...that all this time it was you and not Peter who visited my dreams and stories."  
  
"Because I have been here longest. Because my name is emblazoned deeper upon these lands and seas than Peter's."  
  
"Oh, you must tell me how you came to Neverland as well!"  
  
"Of course I shall tell you, for 'tis also part of the story," Hook said. "Though, truth be told, I don't actually remember anything of my life outside of Neverland."  
  
"Nothing at all?"  
  
"Not a thing," he sighed. "Not even my own name."  
  
"Your own name?" Wendy inquired.  
  
"Aye. Hook is not my true name."  
  
"Oh," she considered it. "No, I imagine it would not be. How dreadful that you can't remember."  
  
"All my memories read like an unfinished novel...the only surviving chapters being those which took place here." He strived not to sound so bloody pitiful to her. "I do, however, have but one recollection of my days on the Mainland..."  
  
"Oh, please!" Wendy exclaimed keenly.  
  
"Though the incident occurs to me as if a letter someone else had written relaying the story. I only see the words but no pictures...I can't even be truly sure it ever happened, but it must have..."  
  
"Do try your best. I am frightfully curious," she encouraged him.  
  
"I was strolling, one day, through Kensington Gardens..."  
  
"Why, I live quite near there!"  
  
"A mysterious place, you know. By some means which are no longer clear to me, I happened to rescue a fairy from some ghastly peril..."  
  
"A fairy!" Wendy almost laughed.  
  
Hook smiled at her unawareness. "Why, certainly, my dear. The Gardens are full of them."  
  
"I say..." she beamed. "And you saved one!"  
  
"Appalling, isn't it?" he teased. "It must have been entirely inadvertent! Nevertheless, it happened, and as I was soon to learn, this particular little sprite was a member of the Royal Fairy Court...and a direct descendant of the goddess Leucothea, as my luck would have it."  
  
"How opportune for you!"  
  
"Indeed, for in return of my assistance, the fairy gave to me not only immunity from shipwrecks for the remainder of my sea-faring days, but also a special potion which, taken only once, would render me completely indestructible for the duration of a single day."  
  
"Fantastic," Wendy cooed. "Did you use it?"  
  
"I imagine I did. I certainly don't have it now..." He tossed a stern glance to his incomplete arm.  
  
Wendy bit her lip sheepishly. "And you can recall nothing before or since your brush with the fairy in Kensington Gardens?"  
  
"Quite not," Hook lamented. "So many yesterdays, my darling...and every other one just a blank page."  
  
She gave him a little squeeze. "I should like, one day, to be able to fill up those pages for you again."  
  
He stroked her hair. "Well, you are the Storyteller. What would you have the pages say?"  
  
She considered the question. "Tell me about Peter and your life here in Neverland, and perhaps something shall be brought to light."  
  
"Perhaps." Hook was doubtful. "The details of my first arrival on this island are anybody's guess really, though I suspect that my own disillusionment with Reality might have shown me the way."  
  
"Was your life so unsatisfactory?"  
  
"I was an outcast," Hook scowled. "I may not remember many things, but I do know that. Each turn I took, I was shunned and discarded. Everything I wanted – everything I had – I could only obtain through force. I suppose that is how I came to piracy. It seemed my destiny all along."  
  
"Surely you found your proper function then. Captain James Hook – the only man whom Barbeque ever feared." Wendy nuzzled her cheek into his neck, as if with pride to have herself been seduced by such an infamous figure.  
  
"Ah but you see, my dear, though legend and bedtime stories extol the name of Hook, I was not yet he in my glory days. I was feared by my rightful name. Or perhaps by none at all. It mattered not by which name they feared me – just that they feared me. There must have come a time, eventually, when I grew weary of...wandering. I was feared, yes. But I was not respected. And I was never accepted. A life of depravity only yields so much gratification before it simply hollows you out and leaves you to die. Or, worse yet, to live."  
  
He went quiet for a long moment. Wendy said nothing despite her burning interest, and only silently hoped he would find the spirit to continue.  
  
At last, the pirate found his way back to the story and sighed. "And so, it was with a jolly happenstance that I stumbled upon the Neverland. Such a gorgeously macabre place, Wendy. Nothing at all as you know it today. A land of perpetual melancholy, where the Sun never rose more than a few meters from the horizon and only for mere minutes a day. A terrain of such hushed solitude and apathy..."  
  
Wendy discreetly wrinkled her nose at these destitute images which Hook painted, but he spoke with such a nostalgic grin.  
  
He drew in a refreshing breath. "I had never felt more at home...so utterly assimilated. It was beautiful."  
  
At the first, she could not quite imagine how this could be. But when she considered the source, she decided it would make perfect sense how a man like Hook could find beauty in misery. They were kindred spirits for him.  
  
"And the most wonderful aspect of all," he continued, now in a far merrier mood, "No children! Oh, there were of course the Indian children, but so much more like miniature grown-ups they were, as their elders would instruct them thus.  
  
"The first beings of whose acquaintance I made here," he went on, "were the mermaids. They roamed freely then, as there was no Sun to limit their travel. Really they are the last remnants of those more contented times. We connected at once, myself and the dark creatures. We understood each other perfectly."  
  
He spoke as if reminiscing of an old lover, which put Wendy off a touch. She placed a subtle stroke upon the side of his neck with her fingertips to remind him as to whom he presently held in his arms.  
  
Hook caught on with bemusement. "Make no mistake, darling, that although the wily females were most helpful to me, they would not have thought twice of dragging me to dear Davy Jones if I were to get too close!" Wendy softened. "You see, 'twas from the mermaids I learned that the Neverland could be mine if I wished. All need I to do was simply claim it. For once in my eschewed life, I did not have to threaten anyone, did not have to burn down a village or slay the governor to gain that which I desired. I could just...have it."  
  
"Seems far too simple," Wendy thought aloud.  
  
"I had the same notion," Hook replied. "And it was not without merit, as the mermaids rather flippantly mentioned toward the end of their spiel that the island could just as easily be claimed by another should they stumble upon it as I had. 'Twas my duty, as the feared and notorious pirate captain, to defend the land from appropriation."  
  
Wendy could anticipate where this story was advancing. She heard the grimness begin to return to Hook's voice.  
  
"I was terribly foolish and arrogant then, Wendy, I see that now" he sighed. "Understand though that I had scarcely a cause not to be. I took my power and freedom for granted and I reveled in it. I could come and go as I pleased from my own secret little realm. Take off one morning to pillage a whole Caribbean fleet and then disappear without a trace, retreating back here as if to a mother's warm protective breast. It was the perfect arrangement. But alas, you know what it is they say about all good things and their untimely dénouements..."  
  
"Then...Peter arrived," Wendy offered warily.  
  
"'Arrived'," Hook snorted. "The Boy barreled into this world like a cocky fireball. And that is not just a clever metaphor either – for with Peter Pan came the Sun, at long last. That hideous daylight was blinding... shining so much brighter than usual just to spite me."  
  
Hook rubbed his eyes as if channeling the irritation anew.  
  
"As I was to later learn, the fairies – both here and in Kensington Gardens – had aided Peter's journey. So much for gratitude," he glowered, his internal ire aimed squarely upon that little fairy of the Royal Court. "In a regrettable stroke of ill-timing, he entered the island during one of my brief absences. The spectacles to which I returned were devastating. Sun shining, children dancing, flowers blooming...I can't remember ever being more terrified."  
  
While quite unable to comprehend anyone's being 'terrified' of these things, Wendy could not help but feel profoundly an empathy for the dashing captain as he spoke with such forlorn sincerity. She strived not to pity him, for those that fear such splendid little miracles as flowers and children ought to be pitied. Instead she tried to imagine herself in a life lived as his, and see if she too would not emerge from it craving darkness and shunning the merry. Ah, indeed, she imagined she would.  
  
Hook's voice usurped her contemplations. "Of course, the Boy had to be disposed of. How difficult could it be? He was only but an ignorant child – no sense of approach or prudence whatsoever. But sadly, what he lacked in warfare savvy he made up for twofold in his infuriating ability to fly. And, most upsetting of all, he had the entire island as his ally."  
  
"Even the mermaids?"  
  
"Aye," Hook replied flatly. "Despite that his coming greatly reduced their power and roving space, he managed to cast such a spell over them that they followed him readily. 'Twas I who was once more the outcast. In my own bloody kingdom."  
  
He went mum again, icily, and Wendy could plainly recognize that he was sailing upon seas long circumvented. She presumed he had never before spoken to a soul of these events. Perhaps that was what he needed all along.  
  
"Please go on, James," she urged him gently. "What did he do?"  
  
His jaw tightened as he saw the words he was about to speak well ahead of him.  
  
"A duel," he drawled cagily. "I challenged him. Under the stipulation, of course, that it be a fair fight. No flying. The victor retains Neverland whilst the loser must leave forever. I can still see the smug little grin he gave me as he accepted. Dawn at Marooner's Rock. We shook hands, chose our seconds and weapons and other such formalities...I daresay the entire island turned out for our spar, to witness their own decisive fate. I never considered for a moment that..." Hook trailed off and swallowed the remainder of his statement.  
  
"Smee was my second, of course, and Peter had chosen for his – a bear cub," He spat.  
  
"He didn't!" Wendy resisted the urge to laugh. Only a few short days before, she wouldn't have cared to try.  
  
"It was repulsive the farce he made of this tradition. I demanded the duel be postponed immediately until he replaced his second, and to my utter astonishment, he quite proudly stated that nowhere in The Code was it precisely written that one could not choose an animal as its second. Not so much was it the fact that he even knew of The Code which dumbfounded me as it was that he had the audacity to tell ME what was written in it! I may not be as much a gentleman as most, but I have always adhered to The Code!"  
  
His face began to flush, but he was swiftly calmed by Wendy's reassuring hand.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he continued. "With much begrudging on my part alone, the duel commenced nonetheless. We took our salutes and our 'en gardes', and I instigated the first lunge, which he parried quite effectively, I am loath to admit. In fact, his entire technique was quite good," he forced the hideous words through his teeth with narrowed eyes.  
  
"We engaged for quite some time; lunge-parry-riposte, lunge-parry-riposte, and so on over and over again until I began to feel as though I was on marionette strings. It was incomprehensible – how could I be so unswervingly matched by this child? At a certain point, he even feigned a yawn, which every one of our spectators found so highly amusing. A blind rage consumed me then – the first true hatred I had felt for the Boy, and I silently wished to myself that I had proposed a fight to the DEATH. It quickly occurred to me that, should I lose, my precious island would fall not only into his grimy hands but those imbeciles guffawing at my expense as well. No, I would not have it..."  
  
A grimness washed over the pirate as these memories enshrouded him fully now, and Wendy could only remain nearby and watch it happen.  
  
"I advanced on him more feverishly than ever, giving him nary a chance to deflect one attack before having to ward off the next one. In time, I had him retreated almost flush to the rock wall, and once his back made contact with it, he was taken quite by surprise. I used the brief respite to my advantage, and I came at him with a fierce prime, knocking his rapier from his hand and restraining him against the rock with the tip of my own."  
  
Hook recreated the move with relish, flailing his mangled arm about the air as if his hand were still appended. He could almost see Peter once more quivering behind the point of his blade.  
  
"Those braying fools observing us were now quite hushed. Pan just stood and trembled. 'Do you yield?' I asked him. He said nothing, only continued to tremble. Of course, his second could not very well yield for him. Stupid boy. At last I had wiped that surly grin from his face, but this was not quite gratifying enough. I wanted his blood. I wrapped my fingers about his throat and drew back my weapon, bracing for the kill..."  
  
Wendy gave ear ardently.  
  
"But then, I heard Smee's voice cry out amongst the silence... 'Bad form, Captain!'" Hook's brow furrowed. "Bad form indeed. Though did this ruffian truly merit Good form? Aye, I decided if I were ever to defy The Code, it would be for a far worthier opponent than Peter Pan. I would not give him the satisfaction of falling to my dishonor. I could not live with myself if I knew I could only best an adolescent boy by cheating."  
  
A languid sigh came and went. "Thus it was with much reluctance that I released him from my hold, retrieved his rapier and handed it back to him respectably, all the while keeping my blade on guard. He took his sword very meekly in his hands and continued to quake and quiver against the rock. 'Please, please don't kill me, Sir!' he began to snivel. I rather thought he might start crying! I had never seen him so timid and helpless, like a lame fawn. Now 'twas my turn to laugh, and I did so, most heartily, as did my bosun. I caught Smee's eye and we had ourselves quite a jolly interlude."  
  
"Then, all of a sudden, I saw my bosun's eyes grow large and troubled. I had just enough time to react to his shriek of 'Look out!' to spin round and see the flash of Peter's rapier cut through the air to pierce the inside of my attacking wrist and pin it to the rock. It sliced clear through the other side of my arm, and it just hung there, impotently."  
  
"Bad form!" Wendy gasped in disgust.  
  
Hook shook his head bitterly. "I would very much like to think so, my beauty, but alas, he had not yielded, and I was fully en garde. 'Twas not altogether illegal. Unwarranted and unsporting, perhaps. But passably within The Code. Blast him."  
  
He paused and drew in another steadying breath. "I heard Smee call out and attempt to approach and end the bout, but the abruptness of his action spooked the bear cub and he was promptly accosted." Hook chortled bitterly. "Already I had lost all feeling in my right hand, which was the only merciful part of it – that the pain so quickly gave way to numbness. But the sight of my own blood quickly brought me to sickness, and I......I heaved right there upon the rock, in front of the entire island, including my own men. I slumped to the ground, my arm still dangling from the embedded sword, and all I remember hearing besides the beating of my own overburdened heart was that of Peter's grating laughter..."  
  
Hook's good hand, which had been blithely clutching Wendy's shoulder, now unwittingly furled into a tight fist, taking a clump of her hair with it. Wendy froze up, rapt by his narrative.  
  
The pirate's eyes closed tight. "Pan crouched down before me, attempting to look me in the face. 'Do you yield?' he asked me, though it was no so much a legitimate question as it was a mockery. As I had done, he handed me back my rapier, though in my left hand, and actually invited me back into the duel. 'You can fight with your left, can't you, Captain?" he laughed. 'Well,' he said without waiting for my reply, 'you will have to learn how, won't you?' I tried to swing at him with my survived arm, but I was far too weak. He laughed at me again and held my dead hand against the rock to try and pry his sword from my wrist, but it would not come gamely, and so he twisted and rotated and bent the blade, which only drove it deeper into my flesh and bone, until, ultimately, my hand simply snapped off into his, and I fell onto my back upon the ground.  
  
"I had just enough wherewithal before I fainted away to see Peter fly into the air and display my shorn hand for all his ravenous witnesses as if a trophy. Including one very eager spectator quietly basking in the morning sunlight just outside the Castle – that infernal crocodile – into whose jaws, as all know, Pan threw my hand. The was the final image seared into my conscious as I went black."  
  
He took a heavy breath and opened his eyes slowly. "When next I saw daylight, I was aboard my ship. And I was a blank slate. I hadn't a single inkling as to where I had come from or even what my name was. Outside, the sun was shining bright in the center of the sky, birds were gaily singing beyond my windows, and all of Neverland was immersed in celebration of Peter Pan's victory. I could think of nothing else to do but get as far away from that place as possible. I ordered my crew to set sail for the horizon, but no matter how many times we tried, we always came back to the island. I was trapped. I was no more than some faceless, nameless, generic villain against whom Peter Pan could achieve all his 'heroic' feats, much to the delight of silly children all over the world. Somehow, he had me locked in this gilded cage like a feral beast, with no hope for escape other than with his own demise. Which of course has never come to pass. I imagine it may never be so..."  
  
An uninvited little lump appeared in Hook's throat, and he turned his face shamefully away. "So, you see...Peter did not just take my hand. He took everything from me, Wendy. He took my dignity, my reputation, my freedom... my very identity."  
  
He could speak no more. There was not very much left to be said anyhow. His head hung to the side and his entire being slumped into the couch. He was beat and defeated all over again. So dreadfully alone.  
  
But wait – was he truly?  
  
He felt Wendy's loving arms come around his neck and a soft kiss pressed against his cheek. At last, he turned his face to meet hers, and although she was smiling reassuringly, her eyes were moist with tears. Never had he been so grateful in all his life than he was at that moment to have this angelic beauty gazing uncritically down upon him. He swung his arms around her desperately, pulling her into his needful flesh. She cradled him in her arms and pulled his head into her breast, stroking and intertwining her fingers amongst his rich curls. She felt a sudden wetness against her skin, and she knew he was weeping. This made her smile. Such a burdensome weight had at long last been lifted off him.  
  
They remained here for as long as was necessary, until Hook had calmed and lay loosely within her embrace. He placed an appreciative kiss upon the swell of Wendy's bosom before he felt obliged to speak.  
  
"Wendy," he said softly.  
  
"Yes, James?"  
  
"Given that the subject has been raised...might I ask, were you ever able to speak with Peter in the jungle earlier this day?"  
  
He did not see Wendy's countenance suddenly darken at the mention of that loathsome boy's name, but he did feel her hold on him tighten strictly.  
  
"Don't you worry about him," she muttered curtly. "He knows all that he needs to." 


	17. STRANGE INTERLUDES

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: In this chapter, it might help if you've read Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens.  
  
This one is kind of short – almost more of an 'interlude' than a chapter really (hence the chapter title) – but of vital importance nonetheless! Hope y'all haven't been too terribly inconvenienced by my lollygagging. :-P  
  
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfics, that's for sure! Heh!  
  
Here's Chapter XVII .....more comments s'il vous plaît! :-)  
  
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XVII. STRANGE INTERLUDES  
  
Peter heard the call plainly. Though it was really not something which he could actually hear; it was more of a gut feeling, like one might have whence boarding a train or ship that is headed for some inevitable peril. And it was quite distinctive, often rousing him from the deepest of sleeps, as it had at this precise moment.  
  
Another little boy had fallen from his pram.  
  
On any other occasion, this awareness would have jerked Peter's attention from whatever frivolous activity in which he was partaking and sent him off straight away to Kensington Gardens to tend to the prospective new Lost Boy. But it was not so this particular morning – if one could even call it a 'morning'. The Boy really had no incentive whatsoever to rise from his loft and make the arduous journey to the Mainland. If it were not for Tinker Bell's incessant jingling, he may very have spent the entire day in bed, paying no heed at all to the distressed child calling out to him.  
  
Thus with a fair degree of mumbling and grumbling, Peter wrenched himself awake and to his feet upon the floor of his empty hideout. He had not seen his four existing Lost Boys for a couple days at least, each one of them, having come to him at separate instants, clumsily requesting some such flippant trek within the island for a short spell. None had yet returned, and quite honestly, Peter had yet to be concerned.  
  
His venture to Our World was quite tougher than typical and required much of Tinker Bell's stalwart aid. As they departed the island, it was all the will Peter could muster to not let his gaze wonder toward the Jolly Roger and his mind to amble over what number of wretched indecencies which he could not understand may be taking place therein. The dark ship paid him no mind as he left, as did seemingly most of Neverland – the only one to give him a wink and a glum smile was the Sun, hovering rather flaccidly at ten o'clock over the island. Strange, considering he should have been well risen to at least one-thirty by now.  
  
Peter and Tinker Bell arrived in Kensington Gardens shortly after Closing Time, and already the entire park was abuzz with activity. Such a merry clamor normally met Peter Pan's arrival, but even here everything seemed very changed. Oh, he was greeted heartily and respectfully of course, but he could not help notice the sheepishness in the voices of the fairies as they said their hellos, or the disapproving glares of the swans as he passed the Round Pond. He knew that which vexed them, but he would never fess to it.  
  
Through a maze of prudent whispers, the finches escorted Peter across the Serpentine to Bird Island, where the fallen child would be waiting in the temporary though very capable custody of Old Solomon Caw and his crows.  
  
"Perhaps we should not let Peter take him," one crow suggested warily to Solomon.  
  
The elder Caw scoffed at once. "If he does not take him, we shall have to dispose of him ourselves!"  
  
"A most ghastly business to be sure!" another crow chimed in.  
  
"But, sir," the concerned crow continued, "do you think it wise – "  
  
"'Tis hardly our decision to make, isn't it?" Solomon stated resolutely.  
  
With that, the lesser bird went mum. Peter was upon their turf now. He tried to avoid the black and stern eyes of his one time friend and mentor, but once a crow has fastened his gaze into you, even the strongest of constitutions would be hard pressed to elude it. Only five words were exchanged between them, and these were they:  
  
"He's in the thrush's nest."  
  
Solomon Caw had spoken them, and Peter was relieved that he had not said more. He hastily tore himself from the glare of the crows and toward the far northern end of Bird Island where he would find his newest charge.  
  
He was very robust child, even at such an early age, and Peter decided at once that he would not allow him to grow very much as he would surely dwarf the Boy in no time at all. The young one dozed softly within the nest, no doubt dreaming of all the wonderful adventures awaiting him. Dreams of my Neverland, Peter thought to himself hopefully with the first smile that he had affected all day.  
  
As if having been caressed by his smile, the babe's eyes suddenly flitted open. He blinked thrice, grasping at his strange new surroundings, before inexorably letting his gaze take hold of the grinning demon hovering above his vulnerable figure.  
  
The last thing which Peter remembered after watching the face of the child grow broad with terror was a dull thud between his brow. And then dark.  
  
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From out of the darkness came a damning sliver of light as the creaky iron door swung open. Before the cursed man could fixate clearly on the two shadowy figures infiltrating the tiny room in which he had dwelled miserably for the past week, he was brutally hoisted to his feet and dragged toward the light.  
  
"On your toes now, 'Sire'," the thug fastened to his right arm spat with mockery. "It's the day you've long been waiting for!"  
  
Both bullies laughed heartily at his plight. His feet lagged as he was hauled through the door, though he did this not out of weakness but out of spite. He would not make this day easy for any of them.  
  
Down countless winding staircases he was led, all the while being taunted into begging for his life as he had done in the days previous. 'Tis true, he'd pleaded shamelessly for mercy, but only as a final resort before having to turn to his secret weapon. This is what kept him mum now. Their precious mercy was no longer needed.  
  
He could hear the din of rabid onlookers even before the gate was raised. All those hideous ingrates, who should have been bowing to him than cheering his doom.  
  
"TRAITOR!" he heard many shout as he was led toward the Hill.  
  
Traitor indeed, he scoffed. He was more devoted to that dreary little island than they could ever understand. 'Twas their dear beloved King at whom they should be spouting their venom.  
  
"Imposter!"  
  
"Fraud!"  
  
"Bastard!"  
  
"Charlatan!" were but a few more of the hateful words strewn in his direction. Amongst these were plenty shouts of support, to be sure. But he did not hear them. Always was the hate so much louder.  
  
More than anything he would have liked to look each of his dissenters in the eye with his own icy ones, to make every last one comprehend his dire position. Why did so many not see whence others could?  
  
But alas, his head was forced groundward as were his knees upon the platform. He felt his long coiled hair, so like his father's, gathered up at the back of his neck tightly.  
  
"Be a shame to get this soiled!" cackled his abuser whose breath smelled unmistakably of rum. "'Twould make a smashing new wig for His Majesty!"  
  
His stomach knotted. It was just something that waster would do.  
  
A beefy hand lurched his head forward onto the block, kept pressed in place with a thick rope. The crowd was becoming more ravenous now as the crucial moment grew ever nearer, but all that he could hear was his own heart pounding madly in his ears. What if his plan failed? Then he was better off upon a spike, and all the rest would be dreadfully sorry soon enough.  
  
And hence, with nary any warning at all – THWACK!  
  
The heavy dark returned.  
  
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! And at least four more. And far too vividly.  
  
With a terrible effort, he tried to compel his eyes open, to see just what was happening. And to his astonishment, the Captain saw nor heard not a scornful mob before him nor a loutish drunk sniggering from behind. He was but securely within his own bed, his head not pinned to a wedge but resting comfortably upon the small of a young lady's back.  
  
A wave of relief passed over him as his circumstances became clearer. Wendy's cozy form lay turned on her belly beneath his cheek, completely still save for her gentle breath. Her poor mistreated nightdress hiked up past her hips, which were firm in the grasp of Hook's left arm. He himself lay moderately exposed, wearing little else than his dressing gown; A stocking perhaps.  
  
How everything was just so. Precisely as he had left it before tumbling off into worlds unknown in the mists of his mind. But he had returned unscathed, if a bit bewildered, to awaken with the lovely Wendy once more at his side. So grateful he was to find himself in this sanctuary that he strengthened his embrace around her, placing hearty kisses to the nape of her back.  
  
He saw her stir at once when he did this, his hand lovingly stroking her bare thigh. A soft coo emanated from her throat as she shifted beneath his touch. The Captain, in his still decidedly sleepy yet comforted state, thought this to be an invitation, and he brought his lips and fingertips to the privileged portions of her half-uncovered body.  
  
"James..." Wendy murmured, her eyes still closed. "I am quite tired."  
  
Hook smirked against her skin. "As am I, darling. Which is why I've not yet already ravaged you."  
  
"Oh really..." Wendy huffed in a vain attempt to seem scandalized. Though she could scarcely veil the little grin which appeared when she felt the Captain's lips settle upon the back of her thigh and move stealthily upward. Then he suddenly took a sharp bite of her bare backside.  
  
"James!" she squealed, her torso shooting upright. As she stared at him wide-eyed and gobstruck over her shoulder, Hook laughed robustly and scooted his way nearer to her pricelessly stunned face.  
  
"What?" he asked angelically, resting his cheek on her arm.  
  
She turned over toward him and attempted a glower. "You really are wicked, you know."  
  
"The wickedest there ever was!" he acceded gaily as he took her hand in his and poured kisses upon her palm and wrist, working his way slowly toward her luscious mouth.  
  
His merriment was, however, but a thin disguise for his inner discord brought about by that furtive nightmare. He'd never had such a dream before, and it left him now with an unsettling feeling of déjà vu. Perhaps the words he had just spoken to Wendy were more truth than he realized. Or perhaps they were not accurate in the least.  
  
He knew not and he cared no more to think of it. He had for so long paid far too much heed to his dreams. What was in a dream, really, but images of stories one's mind invents when it is too tired of processing that which is horribly real? But now the two realms were quite reversed, and why dwell on the horrible any longer, when the reality was, for once in his life, ever so much more lovely and lying beneath him with arms wide open?  
  
Hook quietly shed his troubles as well as his dressing gown and sought to disappear completely into the only certainty he ever deemed worth losing himself therein. 


	18. EXISTENCE REVAMPED

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film _Peter Pan_ (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, _Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens_ [1904]).

GAH! Yes, yes, I am still here; I have not abandoned this project. However, I have been of late highly distracted by other endeavors – writing contests and the like. But I have not given up on this story! Just please be patient with me for a bit...

A mini-warning: Nothing too terribly exciting in this chapter...however, I was going to call it "Days in the Life of Two People with a Very Healthy Sexual Appetite", but it was too long. ;-) So, let that be your mini-warning...

Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...sales are skyrocketing! Also, I would like to lovingly acknowledge the artist Nene Thomas, whose painting "Cold Embrace" provided a very nice visual reference and inspiration to parts of this chapter.

Here's Chapter XVIII , comments, s'il vous plaît! :-)

XVIII. EXISTENCE REVAMPED 

"Wendy, do pay attention please."

"I am paying attention."

She was not really, thus it was hardly to her advantage to claim otherwise as she fiddled with the small bloom of hyacinths at her left.

Captain Hook sighed and leaned upon his rapier, his claw resting impatiently on his hip. "If you expect a tango lesson later this evening, you'll pick up that blade and take my notice."

She tossed him quite a pout. "You needn't boss me like a headmaster."

"And you needn't carry on like a mousy schoolgirl," he shot back.

Affronted, Wendy took up the weapon which had prior to then been lying limp in her right hand and took a scowling lunge at the Captain, which he easily brushed aside without having to move anything more than his elbow.

"My dear," he began with a slightly bemused grin, "Was that my heart at which you were aiming?"

"No," Wendy admitted coyly. "I was aiming at your throat, but this sword is a bit heavy."

Oh that she knew just which buttons to push to reclaim his favor, and he could scarcely fight back a fiendish smile.

"Then we shall just have to find you another, won't we?"

Wendy met his playful grin perfectly and shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. 'Tis such a lovely piece, I'd hate to give it up." She retreated a step and gave the weapon a swish. "From whose ill-fated hands did you wrench it, Captain?"

"Actually, my dear, you may – or may not – be happy to know that 'twas a gift from a Spaniard cousin of mine, a brilliant swordsman in his own right. His father crafted it himself."

Wendy cocked her head. "How would you remember that?"

To which the Captain gave a delicate grin and replied, "I don't. There is an inscription at the base of the blade."

Wendy looked. Indeed there was. "Oh! Yes!" Though it was written in Spanish. "Surely, it means a great deal to you. Why would you allow me to use it?"

Hook examined his number four parry, which was a weakness of his. "Because you mean a great deal more. And I insist you flourish only the finest steel."

At this, Wendy felt her skin go pink. She had never heard him regard her in such terms – at least not in such a casual way, as if the whole matter was entirely rhetorical.

By the by, in case you have been wondering about Wendy's poor ankle, which as we know has been a great bain to her through most of this story, I can happily report that she is now almost entirely healed and can move about quite briskly without much pain.

So why does she stay, I hear you ask suspiciously. And don't think she had not asked this of herself numerous times. You see, Wendy did not quite deem herself ready to face the Real World again, if at all. The simple fact of the matter was, Captain Hook had ruined her. She recognized this plainly. And he had done so with her full consent. She now understood what he had meant when he said to her, just after claiming her precious virtue, "There is no going back." Indeed, how could she expect to return to the life and people she knew before in her present circumstance? It was hard enough dodging the sniggering glances of Hook's crew, and they were but dimwitted sea dogs! She would never be able to hide such a thing from her parents. One look at her, and they would know immediately.

However, she regretted none of it.

There was nothing which the Mainland could offer her that she could not find readily just within the Captain's cabin aboard the Jolly Roger. Edification, culture, enlightening conversation, a warm bed to sleep in at night and a remarkable man with whom to share it. Until she could determine a proper occasion in which to return to London – should that occasion ever arise at all – she thought it best to stay put. And truly, she could not think of a more preferable place to do this.

And thus she stood on the murky shores of Neverland, receiving instruction in the finer points of sword fighting from the Supreme Authority himself, Captain James Hook. And a most striking picture he made before her, leaning gracefully into an en garde, his dark coiled locks tied back with a purple ribbon and his finest royal blue justaucorps fluttering in the cool breeze behind his powerful figure. Imploring her on with his piercing eyes, he inclined the tip of his rapier toward her in such a manner as to evoke images in her mind of how he would lure her to his bedchamber in the evenings, though with a much more potent weapon at hand than a sword...

"The premiere tenet of a duel," Hook explained, "is to know your opponent completely. Anticipate his every move, his every breath if you have to. There is no proper defense without a thorough understanding of the offense."

Wendy deflected an informal seconde and creased her brow. "But what if I've never even met the person?"

"With practice, you will come to read your foe like a book at a single glance. His every intention shall emanate from his person like a stench."

"So...I shall smell his every move?" Wendy inquired puckishly.

Despite himself, Hook allowed a grin. "Something to that effect I suppose."

Then suddenly, the Captain lunged at her with a frightening cut on his backhand. On impulse, Wendy caught his blade with her own, two-handed and in quartata. Hook wasted nary a blink by spinning round and countering with another cut toward her exposed back. But Wendy's reflexes proved sound as she caught him once more, their swords crossed statuesquely above their heads.

Hook peered at his young pupil over upraised elbows. "How did you know to engage me to your left?"

"I opened my back to your initial assault," was Wendy's swift reply, "and surely you would take advantage of it."

"And why did you not attempt to riposte between my advances?"

"Because I knew you would not truly hit me should I miss your attack," Wendy stated with confidence.

Hook's expression turned to one of a cagey wryness. "Truly? You think so?"

Her stomach tightened.

"Best not to assume too much in a swordfight, darling," said Hook softly.

He watched her face go pale at his words. Glad he was, admittedly, that she was now taking the situation seriously. He retreated from their stance and withdrew his weapon.

"No, of course I would not have harmed you," he confessed, "but not every opponent will afford you such leniency, will they?"

At last Wendy felt herself breath. "No, indeed not."

From this moment on, Wendy regarded her lesson most crucially. Even that same evening, when the Captain, as he had promised, coached her in the Tango, she absorbed his instruction with a terrible seriousness. Hook vaguely attributed her manner as one of impudence for his earlier strictness with her onshore.

"Wendy, you simply must relax," he said, giving her hand a small squeeze. "There is no room for such stringency in the Tango."

With that, he dipped her grandly, her head almost touching the floor. She gasped at the abruptness of it, but once vertical again, she allowed an easy laugh.

They had mastered the basico by this time and were swiftly moving on to the salida. Accompanying their toils was Hook's anachronistic old gramophone, blaring such sensual beats from its tarnished horn. It was powered, said Hook, by two confined worker fairies.

Pressing on in this session, with Wendy now of lighter humor, Hook guided her swiftly though the salida and walked her beautifully to the cross. It all seemed such a natural rhythm for them to fall into, this joining of lost souls through a dance of such both passion and melancholy. One could gaze upon their heated abrazo and not discern where she began and the he ended, as if this dance were invented solely for them to endeavor. Their eyes never strayed from the other's for a second. A most captivating site indeed.

Thus it was a great displeasure when suddenly the gramophone went silent. They had just achieved a perfect gancho when this occurred, interrupting them at a rather inconvenient moment. Wendy saw Hook's eyes flare at once, and rather brusquely did he detangle himself from her person and turn toward the gramophone.

"Blasted pixies!" he grumbled as he wielded his claw threateningly.

In one brisk move, he tore open the crank door amid Wendy's pleas to be merciful, and to her mild astonishment, he did not strike but only stood slackly.

"What is it?" Wendy asked, already crossing to him.

"So peculiar..." she heard Hook mutter more or less to himself.

When she came upon the scene, she saw that which had stayed his iron and gasped herself – two young fairies, laying gray and lifeless over the gramophone crank.

"Oh, what a shame," Wendy cried, crouching over to take the expired little pixies in the palm of her hand. "Why, they're practically babies!"

"And workers no less," Hook added, scratching his beard with his claw. "Surely the labor which I require of them was not enough to do this!"

He said it mostly to ease Wendy's mind of any blame she might be construing toward himself, though it was true that he had not really demanded so much of the kept fairies.

With a shrug of forced concern, Hook deduced, "Someone must have said that there's no such – erm, that is, someone must have uttered those certain six dreadful words."

"Yes," Wendy sighed. She rose and plucked a handkerchief from Hook's sleeve and wrapped the pixies carefully within it. She then placed the sad little bundle inside a snuff box on Hook's desk.

"Tomorrow, I shall give them a proper burial," she proclaimed with a resolute nod.

Hook resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They were just a couple of insignificant worker fairies, for goodness sake! But he was cognizant of Wendy's staunch veneration for all creatures, and so he granted her a polite smile at her declaration.

Remained presently was the issue of just what they were to do now with their Tango cut so tragically short.

With a cunning twinkle in his eye, the Captain suggested another sort of dance in which they could partake; one which required an even deeper abrazo...and very little clothing.

"Sounds silly to me," Wendy said demurely. "What does one call this dance anyway?"

"It has no distinct name," Hook replied, scooping her up into his arms. "The deed speaks for itself really."

The unhappy incident with the fairies promptly forgotten, the amorous Captain carried Wendy into his bedchamber and tutored her rather vigorously in the ways of his Unnamed Dance. Cheeky Wendy insisted repeatedly that she just could not quite get the hang of it, and that the erudite Captain simply must demonstrate it for her one more time.

Thus was how the majority of their evenings commenced as of late, bleeding over into the mornings as well if either of them had any additional energy to spare. And they often did, even if they did not. And when the Captain would finally emerge a short time later to see to his duties on deck, the telltale waddling gait he affected spoke volumes to his snickering crew of the grueling time spent inside his cabin with his young mistress the previous night.

Oh yes, his men were quite aware of the situation at hand. But they were wise to keep their mouths shut and to mind their own when in the presence of their Captain. He desired not to discuss these matters with a soul, not even his faithful bosun.

Ah, poor Mr. Smee. And what has become of him, you may ask. Forced so carelessly into the background it seems, though he was still ever-present in the daily lives of his two masters. But little more than a fly on the wall was he to them, I'm afraid. He was well conscious of his Captain's shameless exploits with the Wendy girl, certainly. In fact, he had, you might say, front row seats for this particular burlesque. They would pay him little mind as he shuffled in and out of the cabin during the course of the day to bring the meals or collect the washing and the like. And just occasionally, whilst clearing away the dinner table in the evening, he would notice the bedchamber door a touch ajar, and not being able to resist he'd peer inside, only to discover that which had already been quite evident was shockingly confirmed.

Tearing himself away from the unseemly spectacle, the bosun would return to his duties and think to himself how utterly appalling it all was. Why, she was practically a child! Smee had been witness to a number of depravities at the hands – or hand – of Captain Hook in his time as bosun, but never a perversion such as this! He had been watching helpless Hook's better judgment slowly slip away from him ever since his escape from the crocodile's belly. Surely, he had quite overstepped the bounds of sanity now, abandoning his quest for Peter Pan's head in lieu of gleefully sharing his bed with that which was essentially just a little girl. What other disastrous feats may lay ahead?

But alas, such a simple man Smee was, what could he possibly do as one person to save the Captain from himself? Or from that juvenile trollop?

And so, with a shrug and a sigh witnessed by nobody but himself, Smee finished his task and left the ribald pair to their foolishness. If they had known what he'd been thinking, they would not have cared a whit anyhow.

Soon enough, Hook and Wendy's indifference to the opinions of others briefly carried their illicit encounters from out of the cabin to wherever and whenever they could seek a suitable spot. If the inclination hit them, so be it – resulting in a handful of clumsy and comical episodes in the name of sating their lusts. But this would eventually begin to take its toll, as demonstrated in the end by the heavy bruising Wendy sustained upon her cheek whence, on one occasion, having it pressed brutally up against the wood of the mast while Hook took her in the crow's nest. From that day forward, Hook promised, he would never again touch her unless she was swathed in cushions. And he kept to that promise with much vigor, I can blushingly assure you.

Such persistent endeavors might seem exorbitant to you and I, but as for them, each new intimate encounter was just as splendid as the first.

And never was Wendy quite more beautiful, Hook thought, than when she was rapt in the fevered passion which only he seemed to be able to provoke. More than anything he adored watching her face as she cried out his name to the cosmos. He delighted as well in catching with his tongue the droplets of sweat which would trickle from her temple to the tip of her breast. How could something which was salty be so sweet at the same time? 'Twas the magnificence of Wendy. And she was all his. At last.

At last, no longer alone. No longer so old. And certainly not done for.

Another of Hook's most favorite leisures was the process of undressing his young lover, and she him. He found the anticipation of it was almost as exciting as the act that followed. On one particular evening, following a long day of repairing a sail which a wayward pelican had tumbled into, Hook entered his bedchamber to find Wendy therein by the window, wrapped in one of his more worn-in banyans. He wanted nothing more in the world than to feel her arms around him. He'd never yearned as much for Peter Pan's blood.

No words burdened the evening air as Hook approached Wendy and held her adoring face in his good hand. With a smile that could melt Lucifer's bitter heart, she commenced the unhurried process of disrobing her Captain. Starting, of course, with his officious iron claw and tossing it begrudgingly aside. Next the justaucorps came off, followed by the vest, and then kneeling down to remove the boots and stockings (with a grinningly deliberate caress of his calf made to seem as simply an accident). Staying here, Wendy's fingers expertly unfastened the buttons of his breeches and with prudence tugged them over his hips and to the ground to join his other abandoned wears.

As she came back to her feet to help him out of his shirtsleeves, Hook was already untying the sash at her waist. His simple task quickly accomplished, he allowed Wendy to lift his shirt over his head whilst he wriggled his arms free and tossed the garment aside. Wendy hastily got to work removing the painful harness which kept Hook's powerful upper body so mercilessly captive. This as well tumbled to the floor with an indignant clank.

Wendy's lips fell at once to Hook's bare chest as her hands inched delicately to the modest chemise at his waist. Meanwhile, Hook's own hand crept inside the folds of her banyan, brushing it over her shoulder and inclining his face to kiss the exposed skin. Wendy let her arms hang to her sides so that the banyan may slip away gracefully. Now all that remained was to free Hook of the chemise, and this too was achieved with just the same amount of barely controlled urgency.

Thus the eccentric pair stood before each other with all secrets revealed. A languid stroke of her arm accompanied delicate kisses to her throat as Wendy inclined her head to catch them, her own eager hands finding their way beneath Hook's curls to his finely sculpted back. His skin, though battle-weary and scarred, had apparently become accustomed to the lush velvet which had adorned it for so long, as it had adapted itself to this texture as well – rich to the touch, and with a few perfectly placed freckles here and there.

Nestling her face into his neck, her hands crawled stealthily like a wind's soft caress down his form, tracing the line of his spine until it disappeared behind the steep curve of his back, and then falling ultimately to his solid backside. She would have liked to give it a squeeze, but she'd sooner be able to clutch a rock. So instead she let her fingertips gently stroke the length of his cleft. She felt him harden against her belly, and his hand, hitherto entangled within her cascade of hair, gripped the back of her neck, pressing her tighter to his needful, naked body.

Wendy had become well acclimatized to the Captain's expectations when it came to these matters. Sometimes, it was a simple flick of the eyebrow or a certain way he arranged his mouth. Other times, it could be a scent he emitted from his skin. At this time, she knew that he was ready to migrate to the bed by the manner in which he held her. Enfolding her arms about his neck, she lightly stood tiptoed upon the tops of his feet, as a little girl would do when being taught to waltz by a grown-up. In this quaint albeit thorny arrangement, Hook walked her over to the edge of the bed, letting her slip from his embrace and onto the cushions, where she remained mostly upright, leaning back on her hands, and presenting to him the most delicious of smiles.

Hook could not defend against her beaming face as he placed a knee to one side of her and bent down to retrieve his first kiss of the evening. Cupping her chin in his hand, he offered his tongue, which she accepted gladly. They remained with mouths entwined for a goodly while, playing impish games with their tongues that evoked a few lighthearted giggles between them.

Once this interlude found its natural end, Hook beseeched Wendy flat on her back against the bed, letting his thumb linger a moment longer at her inflamed red lips. She saw plainly in his face a cunning which foretold of something wholly wicked and adventurous on his mind as he crouched to his knees at the foot of the bed before her. Dozens of butterflies raced through Wendy's insides as Hook slowly separated her legs wide apart. With one last twitch of a grin, he leaned in and began to trace a line from the rook of her knee up the inside of her thigh with his lips. A torturous anticipation flooded Wendy's whole being, and she shut her eyes and clutched the sheets beneath her head in preparation of it.

The Captain took no haste in his hunt for the finest treasure in Neverland. Oh, the wait was maddening! So when he finally did rediscover it – that small, precious bit of property Wendy kept hidden between her thighs – it was already coated in a proper share of dampness before his mouth had chance to spot upon it himself. But even still, he searched hungrily for more, feasting on her flesh like a deprived wolf. The whole universe cycloned around Wendy, leaving her a dizzy, helpless prey for the ravenous pirate. And when at last he spread open the swollen gateway of her riches with his fingers and plunged his tongue deep inside her, she burst instantly.

He remained at his task a bit longer even after she had finished with it herself until he had for certain drained her little lagoon dry. Once sated, and with Wendy laying limply and breathlessly upon the bed, Hook withdrew himself, dabbed his chin with the back of his hand, and rose drowsily to his feet.

Wendy watched through her fogged periphery the Captain cross toward the writing desk at the window, and she heard the vague clinking sound of a brandy decanter being opened and tipped into a goblet. Giving his free arm a good well-earned stretch, Hook drank lustily of the strong liquid. He did this not out of dissatisfaction with Wendy – to the contrary, the taste of her was divinity in his mouth – but as a common courtesy to the young lady if he were to kiss her upon the lips again.

As the brandy burned down his throat, Hook stared aimlessly out the window of his bedchamber. The room was entirely swathed in darkness save for the eerie blue glow of the steadfast Moon pouring in from the outside. Wendy observed her handsome lover, standing bare and exquisite within the cool blanket of that moonlight. She never ceased to be in awe of him nor of the awareness that that every cravable inch of him belonged only to her, to do with whatever she pleased, explore in whatever manner, possess at any time she desired. How many other maidens like herself would give up the World for just a day to be in Wendy's place?

And how had she possibly failed to notice it those few meager years before?

He could always feel her eyes on him, even when he was not looking, like a warm tickle upon his skin. And as he emptied the last dregs of his goblet, he turned his face toward her, the blue glimmer lighting up his face and absorbing with it the iciness of his eyes until all that could be seen were the dark pupils, giving him an almost supernatural appearance. He grinned when he caught her regarding him, still sprawled upon her back, as splendid as she ever was. Wendy had to this point been quietly wondering if their evening had run its course, but upon seizing a glimpse of those mystic eyes and the roguish smile, she knew at once that he was not yet through with her.

Indeed, in only a matter of seconds, Hook abandoned his brandy, scurried back toward the bed, and entered Wendy swiftly, her body having long since adjusted itself to easily accommodate his size. And when their primal ritual was complete, they fell into a sound sleep with their bodies still joined, neither one quite able to bear the separation.

Hook dreamt strangely again this night, though 'twas not of the usual troubling nature. Nay, instead he dreamt of merrier times, of the brief periods when he was accepted and embraced by those around him. He dreamt of a lovely woman whose face he knew indisputably but whose name and significance escaped him. She looked upon him with such unwavering love in her eyes that he nearly began to weep in his slumber. But she was quick to console him, taking his face betwixt her hands, and whispering softly but firmly into his ear:

"May one never mistake or underestimate thy heritage."

He knew she was right. But he did not know how he knew it. He wanted to ask her, but before he could, she gave his right shoulder a loving squeeze and then evaporated back into his subconscious.

He dreamt no more that night.

As for Wendy, her sleep was dreamless, but hardly uneventful. Though her thoughts remained uncluttered and still, deep within other hidden corners of her being stirred a most unsettling little specter, one which was unfamiliar in this territory but sought to make a suitable home out of it. 'Tis hard to say how it got there, but are not all impossible things possible in the Neverland?

Well, aren't they?

It would seem that this tiny tumult had been festering for some time, and it was about to manifest itself through a most unfortunate incident.

As of late, Wendy had been growing rather restless aboard her new floating domicile. This was maybe inevitable, but would you be surprised if I told you that Captain Hook himself played a part in her ennui? Well, surprised or not, it was certainly the truth. As vigorously as she had strived to draw out the feared pirate captain's gentler nature, she was now wondering if she had perhaps emasculated him completely. He scarcely ever raised his voice anymore, even when a crewmember disobeyed him, and he most certainly had not raised his claw in a menacing fashion since the incident with the dead worker fairies. Had he gone soft? Where was the wicked pirate by whom she had first been so entranced at just the tender age of twelve?

In addition to this, Wendy had become quite fed up with Hook's dogs. She thought of them as little more than ballast, and the way in which they would stare at her as if she were a common whore did little to elevate their standing in her eyes. Add to it their blatant defiance of their Captain, taking advantage of him in his milder state, and Wendy would have relished in every one of their keelhauls.

These brutes had no business in the world to call themselves real pirates.

She witnessed their insolence daily, and one brisk afternoon, she'd quite had enough. 'Twas time to teach them a lesson – and to test her Captain's grit.

Whilst Hook oversaw the rigorous cleaning of the cannons, Wendy stealthily slinked below decks, whereby she found a lone pirate toiling haphazardly at his duties. It was Bill Jukes – Wendy knew at once due his ink-riddled skin. He stood over a boiling kettle, yawning broadly as he stirred a fresh batch of a steaming hot cleaning solution. He was a slight and frail looking bloke, and when he noticed Wendy in the room, he jumped a bit as if having just spotted a cockroach.

She was wearing a brand new dress which Smee had fashioned especially for her, on Hook's request, out of one of the Captain's old uniforms. The almost erotic caress of the lavender velvet and silk against her flesh fed her nerves amply.

And as she descended the steps to the hold, she found her thoughts wandering to a vague memory she'd had recently – a memory of her mother. Or rather, a story her mother had told to her of the night Wendy and her brothers first flew away to Neverland. Earlier in the day, Wendy had humiliated her father terribly in front of his superiors and was forced to confront them yet again the very same evening at a party. Luckily for Mr. Darling, his devoted wife was at his side, her shrewd charm and elegance winning over Sir Edward Quiller-Couch, the head of the bank, at once. The encounter was short-lived however, when Nana broke loose and tragically alerted the Darlings to their children's predicament. The next day, in spite of – or perhaps because of – her being half-delirious with grief, Mrs. Darling called on Sir Edward at the bank, without her husband's knowledge, and delicately explained to him the situation, and...well, by the end of their meeting, the esteemed man had forgiven all of Mr. Darling and even offered him an increase in pay.

Wendy found this fascinating, and longed horribly to possess such a graceful ability to attain virtually anything strictly by her feminine allure. Certainly, the girl had no real occasion to investigate such a thing. Until she breached the Jolly Roger's hold that fateful afternoon.

She smiled politely at the pirate Bill Jukes and took a small breath for courage.

"Hello," she greeted.

"Erm," Jukes stumbled. "W-what are you doin' 'ere?"

She shrugged innocently. "I was bored watching them scrub all those cannons. I thought I'd pop down here and see what you were up to."

"Oh," he replied leerily. "Well...I'm jus' mixin' the cleaner is all..."

"Yes, I see." She feigned fascination. But her eyes remained fixed on the pirate, and she saw that the longer she did this, the more visibly uncomfortable he became. And she marveled at her own influence. Now came time to make her move.

"Tell me something, Mr. Jukes," she drawled.

"Y-yes, miss?"

She began to approach him. "I have heard stories of you all my life – 'Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed'. And I wonder..." Her eyes darted downward below his belt. "Is really every inch tattooed?"

Jukes nearly dropped his ladle to the floor. Of course he understood her insinuation plainly – he was a pirate after all! But to hear these words come from the mouth of his Captain's mistress was most troubling indeed.

"I beg your pardon, miss?"

She inched ever closer to him, eyes wide. "Do you truly have tattoos everywhere?"

Jukes scarcely knew how else to respond, and despite himself, he grinned shyly. "Why, y-y-yes..."

Wendy's smile grew wider, and she clamped her hands together giddily. "May I see it?"

"WHAT?!"

"Oh, please?" she entreated charmingly. "I am ever so curious!"

It should perhaps be revealed here that Mr. Jukes had not been in this proximity to a woman in a horribly long time. The request was wholly tantalizing.

"But if the Captain should find out...!"

Wendy leaned in alluringly toward his ear. He had a ghastly odor, as all the crewmen did, but she smiled through it nonetheless, and she whispered, "It will be our little secret."

She grinned up at him with a flicked eyebrow, her arms in close to her body so as to create an inviting swell of her bosom from out of her new frock. Jukes was helpless.

"All right..." he stuttered with a dopey smile. With shaking, grimy hands, he began to unfasten his breeches. And before long, they fell to the floor with a clumsy thud.

Yes, now it can be told with absolute certainty that every inch of Bill Jukes was indeed tattooed.

Wendy gasped at the absurd sight and started giggling madly. Jukes became uneasy at once and moved to retrieve his breeches, but Wendy held his arms still.

"No, no, not just yet!"

"Miss, please," Jukes implored. "I – I really don't reckon you should be down 'ere."

"Why not?"

With a glance to the neglected kettle: "Well, um...'tis a rather precarious place for a lady."

Wendy affected flattery. "You think me a lady, Mr. Jukes?"

The scrawny pirate shrugged bashfully. "The Cap'n would 'ave us believe so."

Wendy took another small step forward so that there was barely an inch between them. Jukes tried to retreat, but there was a countertop at his back.

"Answer me this, Mr. Jukes," Wendy cooed, tracing a fingertip from his sweaty chest to his belly, "Have you ever...spied on the Captain and myself?"

"Spied?!" Jukes eyes grew round in horror, as if he had just been caught at something. "Well...n-n-now, I wouldn't exactly call it 'spyin'', miss...I-I was just passin' along, and I m-might 'ave caught a glimpse or two..."

"What did you see?"

"Oh! Scarcely anything at all! I promise!"

"What did you see, Mr. Jukes?" she asked again.

"Erm..." Surely, the poor man was due for an episode by now. "I s-saw the Cap'n...t-touching you..."

"Where?"

"Oh, I'd rather not say, miss..."

"No?" Wendy pressed on, her brazenness being fed by her own powerful wiles. "Then show me."

He nearly fainted. "SHOW you?!"

"Yes," she replied, taking a soiled hand in hers. "Show me where you saw him touch me."

The pirate was breathing very heavily, but he could not quite deny that dear, entreating face looking up at him, enticing him so cruelly. For so long now, he had observed from afar his Captain indulging in every temptation available to him whilst his other men could only sit back and fantasize. The opportunity to taste that which the Captain possessed was every sea dog's dream, and it was materializing for Bill Jukes now. Did he not owe it to all in his profession to grab hold of it zealously?

And grab hold of it he did, thrusting his hand between Wendy's thighs. She gasped at the bizarre sensation of both pleasure and disgust intermingling. But she tossed the disgust aside as far as possible so that she could bear to go through with what she had to do. Thus with an embellished moan, she lifted one knee and pressed it against the countertop behind Jukes. She then clamped her hand down over his and gnashed his filthy, mucky fingers into the cloth of her dress, which was all that stood between Jukes and that to which only Captain Hook was entitled.

Then suddenly, out of thin air, Wendy pulled away and belted Jukes straight across his luridly smirking mug, leaving a terrible trail of gashes from her fingernails upon his cheek. The befuddled pirate merely fell back against the countertop and stared wide-eyed, completely at a loss for what was occurring. He watched in mild panic as Wendy turned to the hot kettle and propelled her face into the rising steam, reddening her fair, vulnerable cheeks at once. And without a word, she scurried above decks.

Captain Hook stood to attention sharply when he heard his Wendy burst from below, calling out his name as she ran toward him, apparently in tears.

"James! James!" she cried, throwing her arms around his waist. "Oh, it was so horrible!"

Hook pried her from his person so as to look her in the face. "What is it, my darling?"

"'Twas that Bill Jukes! He tried to have his way with me!" she swooned dramatically.

Hook saw her blushed face, and he was certain not to miss the black smears below her belly. And he began to quiver with rage.

Just then, Jukes himself emerged on deck in quite a fluster. Sadly for him, he had neglected to refasten his belt in all the confusion. And so he only stood wide-eyed and terrified across the deck with all eyes cast in his direction.

"Oh, bloody hell..."

He motioned to scurry back below.

"HOLD HIM!" Hook bellowed to the men standing nearest to the accused.

They obeyed him at once, taking hold of Bill Jukes and keeping him at rest on deck for the Captain's scrutiny. Wendy quietly licked her lips in anticipation of what might come next.

With a brisk and deliberate gait, Hook approached Jukes, his fearsome claw held out before him. Upon closer inspection of the doomed pirate, Hook's twitching eye caught the telltale wounds across Jukes's cheek. This was all the evidence needed.

Hook grabbed hold of the dog's collar and prepared to make way with him back below decks.

"To your tasks!" Hook barked to the other men, standing about and gawking. They hopped to immediately, hoping their labors would be able to drown out the screams sure to follow.

With that, Hook and Jukes disappeared below. Wendy held her ground for a few moments before again slipping virtually unnoticed back into the hold as well. She could indeed hear that which the men above sought to drown out – the unmistakable din of carnage. Though 'twas not Jukes' cries for mercy she heard, but the Captain's own agonized roars of destruction, followed by what could only have been the sound of flesh tearing. The clamor made Wendy's stomach flip-flop.

Peering discreetly around a column of wooden beams, Wendy spied Hook's brutality for the first time. She never before bore witness to his violence, but it was all which she had dreamt it to be – a riotous and cathartic stream of rage, like the most perilous of whitewaters crashing and scraping against the rocks which dare to get in its way. He was a maniac, a monster, indeed the wickedest of them all.

Aye, there he was once again – the dreadful Captain Hook whom Wendy had known all her young life. And she had never been more aroused by him.

The pace of her breaths deepened as she fully entered the room, clutching her hands tightly to her pounding chest. Hook did not notice her, too immersed he was in his savage doings. As she drew closer, she could begin to smell the defiled flesh and see the red glow of his eyes. In addition, she could discern an apparent swelling beneath his trousers. How even his own atrocities could stimulate him.

Lash after lash of his iron claw, blood and entrails spewing all about him, until the corpse on the ground was nothing more than a gooey indistinguishable mass of red and pink.

That was the end of poor Billy Jukes.

At last, the frenzied Captain became aware of the other presence in the room. His eyes were still burning of crimson when they lifted to see Wendy standing before him, her shoulders heaving with eager breaths. He briefly became somewhat frightened at the notion of her beholding this gory spectacle, but his worries were fast put to rest for good when suddenly the girl lunged at him and coiled herself fiercely around his body, inundating him with voracious kisses. He was only too eager to reply in kind, and he took her tight in his blood-soaked arms.

The eviscerated carcass of Bill Jukes lay only mere inches away from whence Wendy's skirt was pulled high above her waist and Hook violently slaked his body's need for a fulfillment as if the very fate of the Universe depended on it...

When the pair emerged once more above decks a little while later, strolling hand-in-hand with impish grins upon their red-smeared faces, the whole ship fell silent as they watched the Captain and his young lover casually make their way to the cabin.

High above in the crow's nest, seeing the lovely dress he had labored over so tirelessly now smattered with rips and bloodstains, Smee could only shake his head impotently.


	19. THE CIRCLE

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film _Peter Pan_ (with some references to the original Barrie novel 1911 and his own Peter Pan prequel, _Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens_ 1904).

Good GAWD, people!!! Okay, for those of you who don't know, I live in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. And for those of you living under a rock the past 2 months, PBG has taken TWO direct hits from hurricanes in 3 weeks! As if I needed yet another reason to procrastinate on this story, eh? LOL.....Anyways, I'm doing okay, and I have regained motivation to continue writing. I hope no one has given up on me quite yet! Eeeeek!

Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...but they will do my bidding whenever I press this button.....

Here's Chapter , comments, s'il vous plaît! :-)

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XIX. THE CIRCLE 

Grayness.

There was little else Neverland knew of these days. An entirely new season had forged itself amongst the usual conditions to which the little island was accustomed. You see, the Sun had taken ill and retreated to its chambers within the clouds to recuperate, forcing the silvery Moon to pull a wearying double-duty in his stead. Funny how the Moon had long dreamed of such a promotion as this, but now that it was at hand, he found it rather exhausting and quietly prayed for the Sun's speedy recovery.

But do not all things appear far more desirous until we finally acquire them?

For weeks, the Indians had been performing endless rites and rituals to entice the Sun back to its rightful prominence. Their crops, already so meager, were dwindling rapidly. All hours of the gray days and cold nights could the frantic drumbeats of their ceremonies be heard echoing off the cliffsides.

There were a few, however, who benefited from these perpetual night-days. The mermaids had reclaimed their authority over the darkened seas, and the incessant click-clacking of their peculiar games lent a dissonance to the Redskin chanting which chilled the bones moreso than the acerbic breeze.

But deep within the hollow core of a gently swaying brig not far off, the unrest beyond the stained glass windows belonged to another, less significant world entirely. Therein sat amid the rusty glow of the candelabras a fair young lady, defiantly content as she swept a needle and thread through the frayed hem of a pair of breeches. The owner of the garment still lay within them, his unstockinged leg slung over the maiden's knees whilst the rest of him sprawled lazily against his garish, makeshift throne, his visage half-obstructed by a gray haze of cigar smoke not unlike the drab clouds outside.

Such the picture of wholesomeness it was that if you had just at that moment peered in through the cracks of the bulkhead to observe it, you would never in a thousand lifetimes ever guess of the callous incident which took place below decks just the day before. And, in truth, had you known and possessed the gumption to mention it to either of them, you would have surely been greeted with a pair of oblivious stares.

The young lady Wendy once more donned her tattered white nightdress, now so dappled with patches and mends that it nearly resembled the costume of Harlequin. Of course she could not have kept the lavender one after all it had been exposed to. And if you had the notion to ask Wendy what had become of the lovely frock – perhaps in the hopes of turning the conversation to her hideous deed – she would have smiled politely and said, "I'm sorry, but I haven't a clue of what you speak."

But how can this be, you would wonder incredulously. Simply put, that which had the misfortune to find itself outside the intimate bubble surrounding Wendy and her pirate lover was as transitory as a summer breeze. Their whole universe consisted only of one another. What else, really, was there to care about within the confines of that apathetic island? Anything and everything which they required to survive could be found just within the other's gentle reach. And it could not have been a more preferable arrangement. All that stood beyond that little circle was meaningless and spiteful. And anything that would dare be so bold as to try to infiltrate it could be swiftly swatted away like a fly – and forgotten just as easily.

Therefore, as far as Captain Hook was concerned, he had never employed on his decks a man named Bill Jukes. He retained only a vague recollection of a fellow with bizarre markings on his face. A man outside The Circle.

So now you may better understand how the scene currently being played out before us can appear so serene after the brutality of Jukes's murder. Because it had never happened, and neither Hook nor Wendy would take too kindly to having the subject broached upon in their presence ever again, thank you.

Instead, they would prefer you sit back – at a distance from the Circle of course – relax, and allow yourself to be regaled, as Wendy was, by the gallant tale of high seas daring-do which Hook was dispatching at the present. He had claimed it to his mistress to be one hundred percent Truth, having happily recalled it just that day during an afternoon siesta, but Wendy took these allegations with a certain amount of skepticism while still maintaining for his sake all the wide-eyed wonder and captivation expected of a competent listener.

"'Avast ye, Captain!' he bellowed at me, striving so desperately to cling to his dignity though I could plainly see his knees buckling. 'You shall have this ship over my putrid, rotting flesh!'" Hook conveyed animatedly.

Wendy looked up eagerly from her sewing. "And what did you do?"

"Why, I shot him of course," he replied with a matter-of-fact shrug.

"You?" was Wendy's dubious response. "You shot Samuel Bellamy?"

"And let no one ever tell you otherwise!"

She gave her eyes a slight roll and returned to his hem. "Oh, go on, James."

The Captain took her disbelief with good humor. "Your history books say that he was taken by a storm, but I know better. That Davis fool was only too frightened and humiliated to own up to the truth."

"Yes, I'm sure he was," Wendy placated.

"Don't you believe me?" Hook feigned a grand distress. "Oh, sweet Wendy, won't you humor a tired old man?"

He looked upon her with such a hyperbolically tragic expression that she could not restrain the tiny giggle which instantly leapt into her throat.

"Alright, of course I believe you, darling."

Satisfied, Hook grinned and returned to his cigar. As his lark continued to echo in Wendy's mind, she was suddenly seized by a curiosity which had now and again tickled her thoughts since their very first embrace. With the subject broached, she decided to take advantage of it.

"James?"

"Hm?"

"If you don't mind my asking, I am curious...just how old are you?"

The Captain disliked immensely any little reminders of his seniority over his mistress, but he found comfort in her own apparent indifference to the issue. And because only her opinion mattered a whit to him, he often quietly scolded himself for such unfounded insecurities.

Thus he reacted finely to Wendy's query. "My goodness, 'tis a puzzling question." He tapped his claw against his chin in thought. "I seem to recall the last time whence I had chance to lay eyes upon a True calendar, I must have been around thirty and six. But I daresay I've aged a few years further from even that. Shall we say, nearly forty then?"

His eyes darted aimlessly about the room under a furrowed brow, as if the epiphany of such a lofty number took even himself a bit aback. As for Wendy, she was not surprised at all by this revelation. It was just about what she had figured on her own.

"Although, with you at my side, dear," Hook continued, "I feel not a day over twenty!"

Wendy tried to appear flattered but was detained promptly by a snicker.

"Oh, very well," Hook smirked, "Twenty-FIVE, then."

With expert hands, Wendy tied off the last of her mending, her eyes never wavering from Hook's, and once her needle and thread were neatly tucked away back inside the housewife which she had absconded from Smee, she crawled catlike onto her Captain's lap and purred sweet and naughty things into his ear whilst coiling locks of his hair around her fingers. Hook whispered in bawdy kind, and before long, he ridded himself of his cigar to free his hand to creep beneath her skirt and pull her closer to him as they kissed, and this they did for a goodly long while.

And then came a most untimely creak of the cabin door as it was thrust open, bursting the Bubble at once when both Hook and Wendy laid eyes upon the bosun Smee entering the room.

"Smee," Hook drawled dangerously from over Wendy's shoulder, "Have you quite forgotten yourself?"

In truth, Smee was, by this time, so accustomed to the couple's public displays of wantonness that he scarcely raised an eyebrow against it anymore, and on this occasion, he had to think over his Captain's question a moment before realizing.

"Oh! Sorry, Cap'n," he said with very little sincerity. And with that, he retreated once more from the room, closing the door behind him. Before Hook and Wendy could even exchange a bewildered glance, then came a very polite rapping upon the cabin door.

"Come IN, Smee," Hook growled beneath rolling eyes. Wendy quickly pulled her skirt over her modesty.

Again, Smee entered, quite unaffected by the awkward exchange, and delved into his business at once.

"Forgive me, Cap'n, but....erm....Ye 'ave a visitor."

Hook had already been fully prepared to scold and toss out his bosun for interrupting, no matter what information he would have to impart, but upon hearing these words – words which had never before passed through Smee's lips – Hook was just a bit thunderstruck.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A visitor, Sir," Smee repeated. "And most anxious to speak with ye, 'e is."

Annoyed yet keenly intrigued, Hook gestured to Wendy to remove herself from his person so that he may rise and greet this mysterious Visitor. Whomever he was, he had to be harmless if Smee appeared so unruffled by him.

As Hook prepared to receive his guest, Wendy retreated behind his chair, distrustful of what loomed beyond the door. But when Smee stepped aside to reveal the visitor's identity, all jaws instantly became agape.

'Twas a boy, no more than nine or ten, standing in the doorway nervously clutching his fur cap. Wendy recognized him at once as the little Irish Lost Boy called Ram Eye.

Captain Hook, so rarely at a loss for words, found himself most frightfully without them now. He did not know the boy – at least he did not think he did – but the mere sight of such a young child inside his cabin without a hint of malice was alarming indeed.

"What...is this?" was all he could manage.

The boy bowed his head mannerly. "'Ello, Cap'n Hook. My name is Ram Eye. 'Ello, Miss Wendy."

Hook half-turned to his mistress, his brow creased. "Do you know this child?"

"Erm, only modestly," came her wary reply. "I believe he is one of Peter Pan's Lost Boys."

Thus the surprises rolled on!

"Is this true?" Hook asked the boy sternly.

"On a farmer occasion, aye, sir," Ram Eye confessed. "Tho not so much anymar."

"Is Pan 'thinning out' his herd again?" the pirate asked with some bemusement.

"Not exactly," the boy replied cagily.

"Then speak up, lad! Why dost thou darken my doorstep?" Hook demanded, and the boy jumped a bit. "Do you suppose to come here and play a prank on foolish old Hook?"

"Not in the least, Cap'n!" he cried. "I 'ave come to join ye!"

Now he had heard it all.

"Join me!" Hook bellowed incredulously.

"Yessir."

Hook was completely thrown. He tossed a glance to Wendy as if she might have some proper understanding tattooed to her forehead, but she was just as bewildered as he.

Focusing his attention back to the boy, only one word materialized in Hook's mouth:

"Why?"

Ram Eye's little face at last boasted a smile. "Well, sir, being a pirate, must be awful excitin', in't it?"

Hook gave a noncommittal shrug. "It has its occasions..."

"An' you, Cap'n – why, yar the most femous an' feared of them all!"

The famous Captain cocked a grin. He could not dispute the lad.

"An' I would be ever so honored if ye were to teech me everythin' ye know!"

What a fascinating notion, Hook thought. He'd never had a pupil before. In all his years of reigning as the cruelest scoundrel of the Seven Seas, not a soul had ever thought to seek his tutelage. But could the lad be trusted? Again he looked to Wendy in search of some concurrence. Should this lost boy be allowed into The Circle?

Regarding the child before them, Wendy felt something stir within her which she would have imagined was long dead. 'Twas the slightest twinge of empathy which incited in her breast. She'd strayed so far from her old ways that she had almost entirely forgotten how to affect this sentiment towards any other human or creature except Captain Hook. To even think of children – those little monsters – caused her great annoyance in recent days. But now, to have one presented to her in the flesh once more, wide-eyed and careless and in desperate need of a mother to be sure, it was all Wendy could do to keep from scooping the boy into her arms and squeezing the very breath out of him. After all, he was there for precisely the same reason as she – Peter Pan had discarded him. How could she say no to him? They were practically kindred spirits.

And up until that very moment, Wendy had not even realized how strongly she had been in need of truly caring for something, or someone, the way a real woman ought to.

Yes, the Circle had possessed a small void this whole time, hadn't it? Only now did Wendy see it, plain as the daylight which currently alluded the island. And little Ram Eye appeared the very beacon of opportunity to fulfill that space.

"Well, darling?" came Hook's voice wedging between her thoughts. "What thinkest thou?" Surely, she was thinking the same thoughts as he, yes?

Had Wendy been of a more attentive mind, she would have highly appreciated the Captain's request for her appraisal of the situation. But instead, she swept past the pirate and crouched to her knees before the child, her entire soul smiling. She took the tiny hands within hers and beamed.

"It would be perfectly lovely to have you aboard our ship," she declared, much to Ram Eye's instant merriment. "Wouldn't it, James?"

Wendy did not look at the Captain when she asked this, but when she received no immediate reply, only then did she cast eyes on him.

Receiving her gaze, Hook let fall his own uncertain countenance in favor of a more generous one.

"If you wish it," he drawled with a half-grin.

"Then 'tis settled!" Wendy exclaimed, pulling the boy into a bruising embrace from which he made no attempt to escape. In the background, Hook strived to share his lover's enthusiasm, but it proved too laborious an undertaking.

"But, first things first," said Wendy firmly, "That name of yours – 'Ram Eye'. Ugh! It has simply got to go!"

The boy shifted uncomfortably. "Ye don't think 'twould meke a fine pyrate neme?"

Wendy waved a hand in dismissal. "You shall have a pirate name later, once you've earned it. But until that time, you need a proper Christian name. So, what would you like to be called?"

"Me?" his eyes widened. "Erm...I...I...I wouldn't rightly know, Miss!" He felt terribly ignorant. "Wha'do YOU think I ought ta be called?"

"Well," Wendy mulled. "How about...Geoffrey!"

"Geoffrey?"

"Yes! I've always been partial to the name."

The former Ram Eye smiled, relieved that this game appeared over. "Thank ye, Miss Wendy. I should very much like to be called Geoffrey. What say ye, Cap'n?"

Hook studied the peculiar scene before him, of his Wendy coddling up to the soiled, pint-sized ruffian as if a little girl who had just adopted a wounded animal. How easy it would be to say No to her, to keep the Circle exclusive between only he and she. But he knew fully that to say No would be to keep the Circle exclusive to only he alone.

Alas, once more, the Captain assailed himself to a smile.

"Splendid."


	20. UNEXPECTED TRAPPINGS

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film _Peter Pan_ (with some references to the original Barrie novel 1911 and his own Peter Pan prequel, _Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens_ 1904).

'Ello again! I said I'd be back! Are you still hangin' in there? Cuz I am! ;-)

Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...they belongs to the Great Ormond Street Hospital (no matter what Disney says)!

Here's Chapter XX .....please review! :-)

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XX. UNEXPECTED TRAPPINGS 

A great yawn pervaded the Jolly Roger as the day made its presumed exit. The only indication of Night's true arrival afforded to the ship's occupants was the waning of the Indian tribes furious daylong chants.

Captain Hook and Wendy had utilized the remaining operative hours to show young Ram Eye, now young Geoffrey, round the old pirate ship, from top to tails. Wendy did most of the enlightening, whilst Hook remained close at hand to correct any uncertain terminology. He'd never seen Wendy so animated as when she was pointing out the topsails or explaining the function of the scuppers to the lad. There was not a thing in the world he would begrudge her, but he had to be honest with himself and silently admit how he should very much like to be able to arouse the same such light in her eyes as that child could.

Geoffrey was already fast asleep on the Captain's fainting couch when Hook and Wendy retired as well that evening. Their nightly ritual quickly concluded, they remained awake for some time, lying on their sides facing one another and conversing about the strange events of that afternoon, snickering at how the large deckhand Trounces squealed and ran at the sight of Geoffrey, and other such frivolities.

Soon, as the pair grew sleepier, these topics gave way to more thoughtful ones. Hook had had another perplexing dream the previous night, seeing himself wondering aimlessly along a misty shore, a terrible pain in his neck, and spotting along the vague horizon the outline of a ship just before collapsing onto the sand. That was all he remembered. Wendy listened with intent, all the while carelessly tracing the palm of his one remaining hand with her fingertip and briefly marveling not only at how much larger it was than her own but also the length and profundity of his Life Line.

Wendy offered a simple explanation of the dream before they both fell into a pensive silence. Hook observed her through heavy eyelids continue to caress his hand until he felt his lips move in a most uncommon fashion:

"I do love you, you know," he practically mumbled.

Wendy's fingers slowed noticeably, but the rest of her did not seem to react at all.

"Did you hear me, Wendy?" he asked more clearly.

She nodded, keeping her eyes from his. "Yes."

"Is that all you've to say?" the Captain spoke gently.

And then Wendy drew back her hand and buried her cheek into the pillow, her face screwed into a cry. Hook raised his head in alarm.

"But...why do you weep? Surely, 'tis nothing to weep over..."

She covered her face with her hand. "I'm afraid."

"Of what, for heaven sakes?" He stroked her arm soothingly. "Of me?"

"No." She peered at him through her fingers. "Of me."

Hook did not understand, she could read it on his face. Thus she held out her hand and touched his cheek.

"You do so deserve to be loved, James," she said sadly.

Hook could scarcely like the path this was taking, but he held his tongue as yet.

"But," Wendy continued, "I'm afraid that I might never be able to love you the way you deserve to be loved."

In truth, Hook could not have found this unexpected, and the rueful smile which glazed over his countenance said thus.

Wendy furrowed. "Why do you smile when what I've said is so contemptible?"

"Oh Wendy, I could never flatter myself so by imagining that I would ever honestly be loved by the likes of you."

"Why must you say such things?"

"I am imperfect." His smile faded and became dark. "How could I expect you to feel anything at all for someone who is not...complete."

"Nonsense," Wendy asserted quickly, holding his stump to her breast. "I adore every inch of you. Even those inches which are no longer there."

Despite it all, they both smiled at this. The Captain, finding himself just a touch reassured, allowed his head to fall back onto the pillow.

"I never did apologize to you," he said.

"For what?"

"For what I did to you when first we met, when you were still a girl. I behaved so deplorably."

Wendy did not really want to think about it again. "No need for apologies. It's in the past, and I completely understand now."

"You couldn't possibly," Hook sighed. "I ought to be flogged than forgiven for it."

"Even then," Wendy began, "Underneath it all, I glimpsed at the true man that you were, that cried so desperately to be set free. And now, at last, I see that true man before me, in the flesh. A man that any woman could love without hesitation."

"I care not for 'any woman' but you, Wendy," Hook stated firmly. "'Tis only thy love alone which my black heart yearns for. But alas..."

He began to turn away, but Wendy stayed him softly, her voice trembling. "Please don't give up on me, James. Not yet. I couldn't bear it if you were to abandon me as well."

"Never!" he nearly bellowed, affronted at the thought of treating Wendy as that despicable Peter Pan had. He closed his hand tight around hers. "My darling, I would gladly wait until Doom itself cracks if you should ever find it in your heart to bestow upon me thy most precious Kiss."

She could hear his voice waver as well, and she smiled at him though damp eyes. "One day soon, you will have it all, James Hook. Just as you ought to."

The pirate's powerful body suddenly wilted into a gentle weep, so unused it was to such succor.

Wendy hastened to wipe his tears away. "Oh, now don't you start too!" she exclaimed with a gentle smile.

He let out a silly snort himself. "I can't scarcely help it."

"What a fine pair we make," Wendy laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I daresay," Hook drawled, staring down at the one true fortune of his life. He drew her in closer and kissed her as he had never kissed her before. And he would have made love to her brilliantly at that moment had he not pulled away so suddenly and prematurely.

"What is it?" Wendy gasped.

Hook laid low on his back, his eyes narrow and darting past Wendy's shoulder.

"We have a guest," he hissed though his teeth.

Wendy followed his gaze and was shocked to behold, indeed, the slight figure of a boy lingering at their bedside.

"Geoffrey!" she squealed, pulling the duvet up to her neck.

"Excuse me, Miss Wendy, Cap'n sir," Geoffrey said in a small voice, seemingly unaffected by the sight he had walked in on. "I 'ad a bad dream."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Wendy genuinely.

"Well, 'tis all over now, yes?" Hook blurted with forced joviality. "Back to bed with you."

"Oh, I don't think I could, Cap'n," Geoffrey shook his head insistently. "I think I shan't want to be alone anymore t'night."

"You poor dear," Wendy cooed, giving Hook a slightly nauseous feeling.

"An' I was jus' wonderin'," the boy went on sheepishly, "if I could bunk with ye the rest o' the night."

Wendy stared at him for a long moment, wordless. But Hook was the more effusive.

"Oh, poppycock," he dismissed. "You are perfectly safe in the stateroom."

"I s'pose I ought t'be, sir," Geoffrey replied, his lower lip beginning to quiver, "but alas, I find it so vary unsettlin'."

The boy was near tears, and had Wendy not been restricted by her own immodesty, she would have run to him at once.

Hook, however, did not appear quite so empathetic and decided a more heavy-handed approach was in order.

"Now, now, young man, we shall have none of that. I say, is this the conduct of a pirate?"

His own words nipped at his nose the moment they left his mouth, and he needn't have had Wendy's arched eyebrow to add salt to the wound. In that moment, he recognized his own foolishness, and decided that perhaps these matters should be best left handled by the Woman.

And Wendy's ensuing solution was not unforeseen.

"Geoffrey," she said with newly-dispensed authority, "Of course you may join us for the night."

The child's eyes lit up like the boulevards on Christmas, and he took an anxious step forward.

"But first...!" Wendy cried out, both she and Hook inclining dreadfully from him. "You must do something for me."

"Yes, Miss?"

She offered a coy expression to mask her true intentions. "First, you must turn around, close your eyes, and count to.....thirty! Can you count to thirty, Geoffrey?"

"I believe so, Miss, but...why must I do this?"

"To, erm...because...umm..." Wendy stumbled, looking briefly to Hook, who himself had long-abandoned this conundrum, "To prove that you are truly awake! For if you are not, then all is well and you have no need to get into bed with us, would you?"

"Oh...I see." Though he truly did not. But he decided to play anyway. After all, grown-ups know best, don't they?

Thus with a shrug and an uncertain grin, Geoffrey turned about, facing the door, clamped his hands over his eyes, and began his laborious chant:

"One.....two.....three...."

Almost immediately, Wendy and Hook exploded from the bed like two cannons and spilled over their respective sides, each diving for any scrap of discarded clothing which littered the floor around the bed.

"...twalve....thirteen.....farteen.....ehteen.....erm, no! Fifteen....."

And in betwixt Geoffrey's counting the telltale grumblings of the thinly-masked mêlée behind him:

"Smartly now!"

"Oh, bloody hell..."

"....nineteen.....twenty.....twenty-n-one....."

"Is this mine or yours?"

"Mine!"

"Ouch!"

"Sorry..."

"....twenty-n-six.....twenty-n-seven....."

"Brimstone and gall!"

And at last: "Tharty!"

Geoffrey spun himself like a top, all giddiness and anticipation, to see his benefactors laying every so deliberately upon the bed in rumpled garments he had not noticed previously and wearing in addition a pair of rather pasted-on smiles.

"Bravo, Geoffrey!" Wendy exclaimed with a bit of a wheeze to her voice.

But lo, something else appeared askance.

"Weht a second," Geoffrey creased his forehead, "Waren't you switched around befare?"

Wendy peered wide-eyed over Hook's shoulder but was quick to the task. "Oh dear! I daresay he is yet still quite asleep, isn't he?"

And before the boy could protest, Wendy was gesturing him to the bed and clearing an ample space between herself and Hook. His encroachment onto the mattress was rather clumsy, at least to Hook's taste, but the pirate remained tactfully mum even when Geoffrey's tiny kneecap sunk into his solar plexus. Under the guise of helping, Hook snatched the boy's leg and seethingly tossed it away from his person and toward Wendy.

One mustn't judge the Captain too harshly for his behavior, given his otherwise wobbly history with the younger set. But rest assured that he was trying most vigorously, for Wendy's sake, not to be so terribly burdened. Notice I say "be" and not "appear to be", for Hook wished in all honesty to "be" the very best man for Wendy that he could conceive of and that which she deserved. He'd grown so very tired as late of his own negativity. Granted, he had been tired of it for some time – long before he knew of Wendy Darling – but only until very recently had he clung to his rage like an old unswerving companion.

But he was no longer in need of such worn-out, depressing company as that, was he?

Geoffrey nestled his little head against Wendy's bosom, curling up into a ball like a kitten. And though she held him tightly enough for a boy his size, Geoffrey clearly thought it not enough, and he reached back to clutch the sleeve of Hook's dressing gown and drape it over him as well.

The Captain would have found this quite startling on any occasion, but the boy's action had made even Wendy stop and give wary notice, for Geoffrey had taken hold of Hook's right arm.

They both froze breathless as Geoffrey turned his head a slight to get a full look at the stump resting over his shoulder.

And then, he let out a tiny yawn, returned his head to Wendy's chest and muttered: "Oy, that musta 'urt."

Hook breathed again, though not so much in relief but in aghast at the boy's apathy toward his affliction. He searched Wendy's eyes, which fixed on his in a smile which seemed to say, "You see? 'Tis not so awful as you think."

Hook smiled too.

As the bizarre trio drifted off into Dreamland that evening, each one had a very similar sentiment tickling at the Happy Center of their minds – that wouldn't it be so very lovely if the Universe were to let it be like this always.

Was the Universe listening this night?

The ensuing day, in all its morose glory, was an exhausting one indeed, to all except for young Geoffrey, who could have happily carried on for weeks without a single complaint or respite. He had first been given a good coaching on proper swordsmanship from the Captain, eagerly absorbing all there was to know and picking up everything beautifully – perhaps a little too well. By the time Smee's secret pocket watch ticked at Noon, poor Hook had been all but worn down to the decks by the boisterous youth. He beseeched of Wendy to distract the boy in some other endeavor whilst he retired to the cabin to soak his feet, and she gladly obliged, playing a spirited game of hide-and-go-seek with the lad.

Geoffrey was besting Wendy soundly through the first couple rounds – he had sought her out in record time when she ducked into the crow's nest and had successfully alluded her detection himself underneath the small forecastle staircase. But when it came Wendy's turn to hide again, she was certain he would be positively confounded this time. And indeed he was, and when he still could not seek her out after some minutes had passed, he pranced about the ship loudly proclaiming his defeat. But she would not reveal herself.

When she was at last discovered by the cook inside his musky, cramped pantry, Hook was summoned from his rest to the infirmary at once. Declining Smee's offer for his Sedan chair, Hook hobbled and limped to the doctor's quarters on his own accord, his heart racing like a thousand mustangs.

Bursting through the door, Hook found therein Doc washing his hands in a basin and Wendy sitting close by on his observation table, looking no worse than perhaps a tad weary.

"What's going on?" Hook demanded.

"I'm alright, James," Wendy assured him. "I just got a bit lightheaded being inside that cabinet and all."

"Well, there's a bit more to't than that," Doc declared, drying his hands on a rag. "But I wanted the Cap'n present afore I said anything else."

Hook and Wendy both looked to the doctor eagerly.

"Well?"

Doc's face was unmoved. "Your young miss 'ere is with child."


	21. NEW WORLDS

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film _Peter Pan_ (with some references to the original Barrie novel 1911 and his own Peter Pan prequel, _Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens_ 1904).

Okay, I'm reposting this chapter having added some additional dialogue and whatnot towards the end, as I (and some others) have realized that perhaps not quite enough was done the first time around to explain Wendy's rather alarming miseducation…..

Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them…until they show up on eBay, that is…

Here's Chapter XXI …..please review! :-)

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XXI. NEW WORLDS 

Hast thou ever noticed, when presented with a stunning piece of news or information, how a mere three seconds or so can seem like a millennium?

Thus was the case when the Jolly Roger's surgeon informed the Captain and his lover that they were expecting. All eyes swung in Hook's direction, including Wendy's, for whatever emotions this turn of events might have evoked for her were not nearly as dire as those festering within the petulant pirate. 'Twas his reaction and his alone that held authority at this moment.

Then, as if moving through warm molasses, Hook stepped toward Wendy, his face an ashen stone. His eyes, blue and broad, burned a hole into the middle of her forehead. She braced herself for the presumed inevitable. Oh, but the wait was excruciating!

Centuries later, it seemed, Hook stood face-to-face with his mistress, and she felt his hand grasp her arm whilst his claw hooked around the other and yanked her whole body to her feet.

This is it at last, Wendy's mind gasped. I am done for.

Petrified to move or look away, Wendy could only remain rigidly planted to the floor as the Captain suddenly threw his arms about her and squeezed her so tight she was sure she would shatter.

And into her ear, he gushed: "My Wendy – how marvelous!"

She detected a slight weep in his voice, and this struck her to the core more so than the reaction she had expected. Not knowing quite what else to do, she shot a glance toward the usually composed and indifferent doctor, but he appeared just as perplexed as she!

"James," Wendy managed, finally returning his embrace, though cautiously, "Do you mean it?"

Hook let her go only enough to look into her face. "Why, 'tis the most fantastic news!"

He was genuine; she could see it plainly in his irises. And now she could freely express of her own happiness.

After all, she was happy, as any young lady would be.

Wasn't she?

But then why was her smile so forced? Not even she had an answer, though she most certainly had a burning question:

"But," she began, trying not to dampen Hook's jollity, "Is it even possible to have children in Neverland?"

Hook stroked her cheek as if she were a newly unearthed pearl. "Anything at all is possible here, if only you wish it hard enough."

Wendy's mind immediately began to file through her various memory banks. Had she wished it? Indeed, she had just the previous evening wished that the gods would make it so that she could stay with the Captain forever – a wish she frequently repeated to herself when nestled at his side. And bearing his child would most certainly bind her to him permanently, wouldn't it? Still, this was not quite what she'd had in mind…

"Are you displeased?" Hook's voiced suddenly pervaded her stream of thought.

"Not at all!" she was quick (and wise) to reply. "It's only…well, I am rather surprised by your glee."

He laughed then kissed her forehead. "But do you not see how perfect it shall be?"

"Perfect?"

At last, he released her from his grip and began to pace about the room, as he was known to do in moments of delicious epiphany.

"A child of my very own…the son or daughter of James Hook! Why, it would HAVE to love me!" His vigor was like reckless darts, and Wendy was becoming a bit uneasy.

"And if a child could ever love me…" Hook rattled on, "Oh, Wendy, my darling! Don't you see how this could change everything?!"

He took Wendy by the shoulders once more, gentler this time.

"No child loves me." His eyes were intense. "That is what keeps me in this perpetual state of misery, as Peter Pan's personal plaything. As long as all children believe the lies he feeds to them about me…"

His voice trailed off, but it was no matter. Wendy was beginning to understand.

"Do you mean," she asked, "that having this child could…free you?"

Just then, Hook's visage wilted a bit. "I don't know that for certain. I continue to hold that only the boy's death could result in my ultimate liberation, but…"

Tenderly he let his hand creep to her newly occupied belly.

"If ever there were another chance for me, this shall be it. And 'tis thee who hast given me that chance, my beauty."

And if ever there were a more telling indicator of Wendy's love and devotion than just her hidden Kiss or the words spoken, Hook thought, he could conceive of nothing more precious.

The following day, a great celebration was held aboard the ship in honor of the happy occasion, and in particular of the mother-to-be. The pirates danced and sang, drank and feasted, and shot off the cannons. Of course, most of them cared not a whit for the girl, but no pirate could ever resist a good party.

The Captain dressed in his gaudiest finery, topped off with the most extravagant plumed hat anyone had ever seen outside of a Kentucky Derby. As for Wendy, she was presented with another new dress, this one altered from Hook's very own favorite dressing gown. My, but that Smee was a wizard with a needle and thread!

The ever-faithful bosun had laid out the dress neatly upon the bed which its wearer shared with his master, and when the young lady discovered it anon, she found pinned to the collar a crudely scribbled note:

"Pleez tri not to rooin this wun."

Why, whatever could that have meant? Wendy only shook her head a giggled at the poor old man's silliness.

The petty little message promptly tossed aside and forgotten, Wendy slipped into the new frock, the lush burgundy of the velvet bodice accentuating the rose in her cheeks and the golden fleur-de-lis embroideries complimenting the sparkle in her eyes. For a final touch, she wove a strand of pearls through her hair. She giggled at her reflection in the mirror – how long it had been since she'd gotten dressed up!

Once she was ready, she was led out to the main deck by Geoffrey, himself adorned in many a showy borrowed garment for the occasion. The little one had taken the news of Wendy's delicate condition with a degree of aplomb. He understood not what it meant exactly, and it is with good doubt that he much cared, though he did make the offhand statement that he had always been of the impression that only young ladies who were married could have babies.

The remark left Wendy and the bachelor pirate in quite an awkward position indeed, and once the little muckraker had been hastily escorted away, a brief discussion took place between the lovers. So brief, in fact, that it consisted of only one spoken exchange:

Wendy first suggested that perhaps it would be the proper thing to do. After all, Hook being a captain, he could perform the nuptials himself. But to this she was met with an icy stare and a half-mumbled reply of: "'Twould not make any difference."

The acid on his tongue being the final exclamation point on the matter, and it was never brought up again.

No, it would not have mattered. Not in Neverland. Who could there be to ever judge them?

Hence the happy fête took place with much reverie and absolutely no matrimonial ado. Wendy was at last able to show off the fruits of her lessons with the Captain in the tango as the couple twirled about the deck flawlessly to the march of nothing more than Hook's own melodious counting and the pirates' clapping.

The festivities drew on well into the night, until the last drunken brigand conked out wherever he fell and the Indian hymns had gone silent. Even the ever-frolicking Geoffrey had found a nice spot by the mizzenmast to curl up and doze.

Looking out over the still black sea, discernable only with the Moon's aid, Captain Hook stood with Wendy by his side for a long while, simply taking in the evening's essence. Observing the same rocky cliffs and briny shores which had served as his prison for so very long, Hook was suddenly struck with a wry notion.

"Would you like to see something?" he drawled cleverly into Wendy's ear.

"What sort of 'something'?" replied Wendy with a delicious suspicion.

"Come, I'll show you." He took her by the hand and led her aft and up towards the large helm.

The pitiable device was rather dilapidated and covered with cobwebs from lack of service, and when Hook gave it a nudge, it let out a terrible moan. At this, Hook snickered.

"Mr. Smee!" he then yelled out all of a sudden across the ship to his napping bosun. Smee jolted awake at once, and made the best of trying to appear as if he had never nodded off at all.

"Y-yes, Cap'n?" he stumbled.

"Raise the anchor," came Hook's casual command.

"Cap'n?" Smee blinked, to make sure he was quite awake.

"Hast thou seaweed in thy ears?"

Tottering to his feet and making his way to the anchor rig, Smee thrust a finger into his ear and wriggled it about.

"Aye, I just might…" he grumbled to himself.

For, you see, he had never heard such an order come from his Captain's lips since their incarceration on this island.

Nevertheless, Smee did as was requested of him, and akin to the wheel, the anchor proved most ornery about being wakened from his long hibernation and gave Smee quite a hassle. Meanwhile, Hook wandered about the stern, kicking at random napping pirates in the ribs so that they may hop to and man the sails. In no time, the Captain had his crew – or at least a portion of it – at the ready for this most peculiar undertaking.

"Bring me that horizon!" Hook bellowed, brandishing the tip of his cutlass towards the Sun's place of dormancy.

His men, believing they must be fumbling through some drunken dream, only shrugged at their Captain's order and set about their respective tasks. Thus the old girl lurched forward from her eternal confinement of the Pirate's Cove and took grasp of an obliging little breeze.

More curious and excited all at once Wendy could not have been. She beseeched of Hook several times to tell her what this was all about, but he merely smiled and flicked his eyebrow, saying nothing whatever as he coolly took charge at the ship's wheel.

The Jolly Roger moved briskly ahead, away from the Neverland, keeping the bowsprit aimed at the starry edge of the sea in front of it. With its every tack, Wendy was able to briefly observe the blackened island from each side of the ship, slowly disappearing beneath the even blacker waters behind them, until ultimately it was nothing more than a spec in the distance.

Wendy's mind began to race. Where could he possibly be taking them?

No child loves me. That is what keeps me in this perpetual state of misery.

This is what Hook had said to her earlier that day. Could it truly be…?

No sooner had this thought entered her recollection than did she spot something dark and decidedly familiar ascending from the horizon dead ahead. It appeared as if it were a whole other island!

Oh, but wait…As the snowy mountain peaks and wilted green jungles came closer into view, Wendy slowly began to consider exactly what lay before them…

'Twas the Neverland all over again!

"I say," she exclaimed when the recognition was complete. "We've made a circle!"

"No matter from which direction we set sail, it always comes back round to this," said Hook stoically.

It was then that Wendy fully understood the nature of Hook's captivity. Deep down, she had always assumed, even up until that very moment, that his grievances lay only in his head – that he could really leave at any time he wished, but something profoundly internal held him back. Now she knew how he was absolutely, positively, honest-to-goodness trapped in Neverland. Such a revelation rather made her want to weep for him.

But alas, she did not wish to ruin such a lovely day with tears, and she put on her bravest face for her captain.

"Well," she sighed, "I suppose there are worse places to be stuck for eternity."

"Mm," agreed Hook flatly. "I've heard of an Italian chap who once wrote of nine such places…"

Wendy caught a good-natured glint in his eye at these words, and she smiled with him.

Within moments, the Jolly Roger was anchored once more in Pirate's Cove, and the grumbling crewmen reclaimed their napping spots.

Hook and Wendy, also feeling the siren's song of slumber begin to serenade them, settled together by the starboard railing. But this night was just too perfect and marvelous to close their eyes upon. Wendy especially was of a sudden fear that she might wake up in the morning back in her bed in dreary Bloomsbury. And so she embraced her lover tighter.

'Tis a queer thing, is it not, viewing the world through the foggy lens of half-sleep and half-wake. For instance, beneath Wendy's drooping eyelids, she may spot across the Mermaid's Lagoon a swirling Mandala, with a lotus blossom at its center opening up and reaching for her to enter its lovely four-gated palace. And just as these eight coiling fingers are about to touch her cheeks, she opens her eyes full and realizes she has been all this time gazing at the Moon.

A slightly different story unfolded for Captain Hook, however. His own curse-ridden eyes observed more stark and complicated happenings – of his tired old ship becoming one of relentless activity, engaged in bloody and forgotten battles from long ago; his lazy crewmen now distinguished soldiers up on their feet, cheering on another hard-fought victory; and the mizzenmast sprouting hundreds of branches and leaves – the most magnificent tree you'd even seen – and all else around it dissolving into a perfect English meadow on a perfect English afternoon. And from behind this tree emerges the figure of a young maiden, her hair in tight golden curls, running to embrace him at his return from these long campaigns on land as well as the sea.

Now he could see her face. It is Wendy! Or, perhaps not. The image was rather hazy still. But she was a captivating creature all the same. Gently she leads him by the hand – nay, by BOTH hands! – toward this shady tree, the trunk on which he had once before carved their initials. Oh, if he could only make them out!

He sighed and supposed there would be time enough for that later. He wished only now to look upon his beguiling companion…this strange Wendy-but-not-Wendy. He had great need to kiss her – to claim her before her visage fizzled away once more into oblivion. A hand extended to cup her chin, and she inclined her face to his invitingly.

And then just like that:

"Oh dear!"

This was Wendy's voice, wrenching Hook from his fantasy and back aboard his idle, gray ship. His hand was to her cheek, but her face turned away, toward the main deck.

"Where's Geoffrey?" she gasped. Her attention had been thwarted from the Captain's incoming kiss to the blatantly vacant spot by the mizzenmast where Geoffrey once lay.

Hook felt a bit dizzy and confused, and a lot disappointed. Wendy's maternal instincts, it appeared, growing ever more acute by the minute, dragged her from her lover's arms down to the deck where the night's lookout, surprisingly alert, informed her that the boy had snuck off to the Captain's cabin. In enviable pacing, Wendy found herself there as well.

She was amused to find Geoffrey not on the fainting couch but curled up in Hook's bed, entreating Wendy to see him asleep with a story. An intriguing request, for sure, as Wendy could not remember the last time she told a story of any kind. But she indulged the little fellow and spun a tale, off the top of her head, about a rogue prince who had been cast from his family's fortune and sailed off into the sunset to seek his own wealth and acclaim. It came quite natural to her, as if it were a story she had told before.

Hook would never have openly begrudged Wendy and Geoffrey these moments together, for he considered that it might be advantageous for the mother-to-be. But Wendy could scarce keep from noticing for too long how increasingly sulky he was becoming as of late. She could deny it no longer when returning one colorless afternoon from picking night blossoms with Geoffrey onshore.

Upon reboarding the ship, the capricious boy had run off to some other pursuit below decks whilst Wendy returned to the cabin. Therein she found Captain Hook slumped ever so disdainfully against his chair, as if his whole body were wilting beneath the weight of his cloudy brow. He sat – well, slouched – before a fully dressed table.

"Oh," Wendy chirped, "is it supper time already?"

"Yes," Hook hissed, "At least an hour ago."

She seemed perfectly oblivious to Hook's scorn as she replaced the expired flowers on the mantle with the newly plucked ones. "Really? I hadn't realized."

"Evidently not."

"Well, I hope you didn't wait for me."

Hook threw up his arms despairingly. "Of course I waited for you!"

Wendy approached the table and sighed at the sight of wrinkled Neverbird and congealed gravy.

"Well, 'tis no good now. I really wish you had eaten."

Hook only folded his arms in a huff.

"A fixable enough problem," said Wendy, picking up some platters. "I shall just go below decks and warm it."

"Oh, don't sully thy precious fingers on my account," Hook pouted. "I'm sure jolly little Geoffrey will require some further coddling. Who am I, after all, but only the Captain!"

The platters reclaimed the table with a clank. "You can really be an insufferable martyr sometimes, James!" Wendy cried.

Truth be told, this outburst startled Hook – his dainty Wendy was not often given to tantrums – but he'd sooner have his toenails yanked off than admit that she spoke plainly. And so he only pursed his lips and stared sharply at the wall next to him without a reply.

Think not too unkindly of Wendy here – she could appreciate his worries well enough, and she rued her scornful words at once. With a matronly grace, she let her countenance soften to a reassuring smile and moved toward Hook's chair.

"Darling, you needn't be so jealous."

"Needn't I?" Hook grumbled, avoiding her gaze.

"No", she replied. "You're the only man in my life."

She gave his beard a playful tug, but he turned his face away, loathing how she placated him as if he were a child. Even if he knew he was behaving sufficiently like one.

Indeed, were he a child, Wendy could well persuade a good humor with a tickle or a treat or some other juvenile nonsense. But here was a grown man who required somewhat different techniques. And the Captain himself had versed her well on the tricks of reclaiming his favor.

Speaking no more, she crawled cat-like onto his lap, none dissuaded by his going rigid, and tip-toed her fingers down his chest to his breeches. Still he sulked and stared past her, even when her intentions became clear. He strived not to notice as she unfastened his buttons and dipped her hand into his trousers, taking a firm grip of the resting beast hidden inside. He kept his face cold and unmoving despite the blood in his veins beginning to burn at her touch. But all his efforts were quite for naught; Wendy wouldn't be deterred from breaking him down.

She had him firm in both hands now, relentlessly coaxing all his inescapable passions that he was never very adept at concealing for long. But he resisted yet, shutting his eyes to it and attempting to call off Wendy's onslaught by hollering out her name, which, through the thick filter of desire escaped from his lips instead as an agonized moan.

This only encouraged her further, and she tortured him with her hands with growing vigor, giggling cleverly, until he could scarce do anything now but yield. Grasping his own hand and his claw around her arms, he tilted back his head and let the cries of pleasure pour freely from him. How quickly his pride could be forgotten when his most primeval inclinations were stroked.

His willingness now obtained, he could allow the fury building inside himself to boil over at its own proclivity, rumbling like a monsoon toward any escape it could find. Every molecule in his body, it seemed, charged toward the delicate fingers which were the cause of all this tumult, until at last, with a great roar, they freed themselves in a violent surge – all over Wendy's hands and dress.

It was mercifully quiet for a few moments hence as Hook listlessly stared at the back of his eyelids and caught his breath. But he could sense an unrest, even still, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Wendy staring back at him, her face fixed in horror, and her soiled hands held out and quivering.

"I…I'm sorry!" she squeaked. "I didn't mean to!"

Tears sprang from her eyes uncontrollably, casting Hook dumbstruck.

"Wendy…what…?" he struggled, trying to shake off the last flickers of spent passion so that he may understand.

He reached for her, but she leaped from his lap like a spooked gazelle and made haste toward the bedchamber.

"I didn't know…I'm sorry! I didn't…" She burst into sobs and scurried into the adjoining room, kicking the door shut behind her.

The confused pirate could not begin to imagine the cause of this foolishness. But then it suddenly occurred to him that, no indeed, after all the intimate moments they had shared, she had never before witnessed this rather messy manifestation of his masculine desires.

And with this revelation came anew Hook's hard-squelched guilt of Wendy's delicate innocence. Had he grossly underestimated her naivety after all?

Quickly rearranging himself, Hook went to the bedchamber and carefully opened the door, revealing within Wendy standing before the washstand scrubbing furiously at her hands and dress.

"Wendy," Hook spoke gently.

With a small gasp, Wendy shot her reddened face in his direction.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"Sorry for what?" asked Hook. "Do you think you harmed me in some way?"

She returned to her scrubbing, shaking her head. "I don't know what I did."

Hook chose his next words diligently. "Wendy…how do you suppose that child got into your belly?"

She paused a moment and looked at him again, a bit taken aback by the question. "Because I wished it. Just as you said."

The Captain was aware of his dropped jaw, and he prudently tucked it back under. "Is that what you truly believe?"

Irritated, Wendy threw the washcloth into the water basin. "'Tis what you said!"

"But it's not quite what I meant," Hook replied, putting his hand to the side of his face in utter astonishment.

"How else would it have gotten there?" Wendy cried, fresh tears trickling down her cheeks. "And what has all that got to do with this?" She gestured to the wet stain on the lap of her dress.

Hook stared at that little spot as well and sighed. He could easily have been cross with her for being so childish and ignorant, but the truth was that he never felt quite so old and depraved. It was painfully clear that he had taken as his lover a mere girl who did not even understand the procedures of creating children! And most wicked of all – he remained devoted to her as ever before.

"Wendy, please sit down," he instructed quietly.

If she had been afraid before, she was convinced she had reason to be now. Surely this would be it – the moment she long dreaded when she had somehow gone too far, and he would be rid of her at last. With a shaking hand, she brought forth the chair behind the writing desk and settled into it. Hook dropped to one knee at her side and forced himself to look at her face.

"You see, Wendy," he struggled, "There is ever so much more than wishing which brings about a baby. I'm not quite sure how to explain it myself, but…"

He had her interest now. The benevolence in his voice eased her tension somewhat, and she gave ear eagerly but warily.

His eyes darting all about everywhere except for hers, he continued:

"When you and I are…together…in the bed…when I…put myself inside you…" His own cheeks flushed a little, and he felt like a fool, but he went on. "At the end, when together we experience that wonderful bursting sensation…you know of what I speak?"

Wendy nodded. She was blushing too. My, what little ingénues our couple had become when words replaced deeds!

"When that occurs," Hook resumed, "I…release something…a substance…this –" He extended a finger to Wendy's stain. "– into your belly."

Her eyes went wide again, prompting Hook to stop a moment. She clutched at her mucked dress. "This? But…why? What's it for?"

She still was not grasping it. Hook's jaw tightened at knowing he would have to keep explaining.

"It's a seed, Wendy," he replied. "And you have seeds too…or a thing of the sort anyway…in your belly. And when mine mix with yours, usually they merely wave hello to each other and carry on their separate ways. But sometimes, when the conditions are just right, they decide to get together and…well, make a child!"

At Wendy's wondering expression, Hook remembered himself and waved his hand. "Or something to that extent. 'Tis all very complicated and scientific…much more so than my pathetic fumbling has attempted to illustrate it. But that is the general idea I suppose."

As this information began to sink in, Wendy exhaled deeply and pressed her newly washed palms miserably to her face.

"Oh," she groaned, "You must think me so stupid."

Hook removed one of her hands and took it in his.

"No, I don't think you're stupid. I only find it a terrible shame that I should be the one to have to explain this to you."

Wendy let her other hand fall to her lap. "How could I have not ever noticed?"

"Did you never?"

"Perhaps I did," she replied under a sharply creased brow. "I must have just always assumed that it came from me!"

And at Hook's odd glare, she added: "Well, I know I bleed occasionally, so…"

"Yes, Wendy," Hook cut in eagerly, "You do bleed. Hast no one ever told you what its purpose is?"

"No," Wendy confessed, ashamed. Then her shoulders slumped in exasperation. "Has that to do with creating children as well?"

Hook drooped a bit too, wearily rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He was never particularly keen on this subject. "In a rather indirect way…I know that it is the first mark of a young lady's journey to womanhood. But 'tis more of a 'Spring Cleaning' which your insides go through to keep things tidy in case any special guests should arrive."

He couldn't help but grin at his own feeble musings. "At least, that is how I have always understood it. I am most certainly the wrong person to extol on the matter!"

But Wendy was quite humorless at the present. She stared at the floor and shook her head sadly. "My mother never told me."

This statement, more than any other spoken this day, possibly disturbed Hook the most.

"Do you remember your mother, Wendy?"

"So strange, but I do remember her. Though I do not think of her." Indeed, Wendy appeared wholly unmoved by the memory.

Nevertheless, Hook thought it best not to press that issue. "Then, darling, if she did not tell you about all this, how did she account for the bleeding?"

"She simply didn't," Wendy sighed again. "I remember the first time I bled, I was so frightened. And completely mortified too. I almost didn't tell my mother. But when I finally found the courage to do so, she began to cry. But through her tears, she was smiling. I asked her 'What's wrong with me?' She kissed my forehead and told me nothing was wrong and that she would explain everything to me when I was married. Or rather, just before I was married. But until then, she said, I was not to be afraid of it. It was a gift from the Heavens to be cherished – a blessing from every New Moon. And I never questioned her. I went about my life just as before, but with this mysterious little affliction…all the while thinking it was some secret divine offering, like the wounds of the Christ."

Hook watched her radiance, which he adored most about her, fade rapidly as the light of a dying fairy. He took her hand once more and pressed it to his heart space soothingly.

"All happenings in nature, Wendy, are divine. You were not wrong to believe it."

She was not so sure. Despite her lover's efforts, her eyes fell downcast. How it all sounded so cold and mechanical, when her whole life she had imagined children being the harvest of something much more miraculous. She had always assumed that she, like Peter Pan and all other children, hatched from an egg as a bird in the Kensington Gardens and was whisked away by the thrushes and finches into her waiting parents' arms. But birds nor gods had anything to do with it, and neither did simple wishing. No, it was all due to a silly, sticky liquid into which her lover injected her, as if a tonic or inoculation. All the magic seemed gone. And her mother had allowed the charade.

"Wendy," she heard her name murmured. She raised her head and met the Captain's intense blue eyes. "If you had known all this before, would you…That is to say, would it have swayed your decision to give yourself to me?"

That strange and beautiful night seemed so long ago Wendy could hardly conjure up an honest reply. Rather, she could not quite remember the girl she had been before the dashing pirate took her into his bed. Would she have consented if she had been aware of all that she was now? She sincerely did not know how to answer.

But Hook still sought one. "Wendy?"

She hadn't been conscious of her hesitation, but to Hook, it must have seemed a terrible omen. Thus she aptly made up for the time lost and chose to put her lover's mind – and perhaps hers a well – at ease.

"No, of course not," she said with a kind smile, a wiser woman.

Relieved, Hook laced his arms around her and rested his head upon her knees.

"'Twas all meant to be, my love," he said softly. "Please trust that. In this world and all others, there are no accidents."


	22. RUNNING

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film _Peter Pan_ (with some references to the original Barrie novel 1911 and his own Peter Pan prequel, _Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens_ 1904).

Hulloooo! This here be quite a loooong chapter, so go pee or whatever you have to do first, and settle in. ;-) I hope everyone is still sticking with me….There is much more to come!

Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them…but once I see them up on eBay, LOOKOUT!

Here's Chapter XXII …..please review:-)

XXII. RUNNING 

When children are first born, they come into the world with the unwavering belief that their parents and all other grown-ups are an entirely different species, like dogs, cats, and lizards. Hence they make it their life's duty to distinguish themselves completely from those stern creatures, forever fretting of such ho-hum affairs as how much money they have, how much money they need, the size of the holes in the children's stockings, and which plates best match the table linens. Indeed, whatever may trouble a grown-up shall never trouble a child – they passionately see to that!

Until, that is, the fateful and ever-dreaded morning when a child awakes, gives a good stretch, gazes toward the window and thinks to him or herself: "My, but those drapes look ghastly with the wallpaper!"

Of course, such musings as this do not completely signify a full march into the kingdom of Adulthood, but it is surely an indication of the beginning of the end. Thus instigates the slow and painful process of understanding all which our poor parents have had to contend with over the years.

It's little doubtful that this 'awakening' of sorts is what contributed to young Wendy Darling's decision to renounce her adventures in Neverland and return home to the parents she'd very nearly forgotten.

And 'tis perhaps this same contemplation come back to haunt her which led to the strange request she posed to Hook this particular morning.

She had lain awake all through the night, replaying in her mind the revelations which Hook had imparted upon her earlier. She'd begrudgingly come to the conclusion that, for all the intensity she shared with the pirate captain, it had been little more to her than a game – just another capricious adventure to be gotten in the Neverland. Not once had the outcomes or consequences been measured. And now she could no longer pretend it wasn't anything more. She was going to be a mother for real. The game was over.

So, this was to be her Fate – to bear the child of James Hook. She never would have imagined such a thing for herself in a thousand lifetimes, but the Universe was tricky in this way. She could either accept it as it was or attempt an existence far more difficult. Where else could she possibly go with such a burden? Thus she silently repeated to herself the sentiments she had relayed to her lover a few days before – that perhaps there were far worse places than Neverland in which to be stuck for eternity in such a situation. At least, she hoped not.

Yes, these were all very grown-up thoughts. But was our Wendy grown-up enough yet to put them to the gauge? We shall just have to wait and watch.

The very moment Wendy's roving mind had finally yielded to sleep, in shuffled Smee to rouse the twosome for their morning tea. He wore a distinctly sour expression as of late, which his captain had not particularly taken much notice of, but it would not escape his attention this day.

Hook had been enjoying a tasty dream involving a voluptuous older woman with a delightful difficulty in keeping her skirts any lower than her knees, thus Smee's routine of tugging at his captain's bed-stockings was embraced with perturbence.

"What is it, Smee?" Hook grumbled, refusing to open his eyes.

"Well, Cap'n," Smee retorted cheekily, "'Tis mornin'."

"Yes?"

"And people get up in the morning."

Hook cracked open one lid. "Oh, is that so?"

Fancy Smee being so sassy, but Hook could well match him at every charge, thus he let it lay for the time being.

The Captain rose with a grimace in his constitution this morn as his bosun helped him into his harness and wardrobe.

"'Twas that blasted sunfish of yours last night," Hook griped. "Too underdone!"

"A fine thing tryin' t'fix sunfish properly when their ain't no sun," Smee muttered, tying off Hook's sash stoutly.

Hook watched him in mild disbelief as he turned and scooted toward the bedchamber door.

"This impudence won't do, Mr. Smee."

His hand on the knob, Smee paused a moment but did not look at his captain.

"Pardon me, sir. I reckon that fish put me in a poor humour as well." And he slipped out to fetch the tea tray.

Wendy was not gotten up until the last possible moment, as Hook always insisted, and the expectant couple took their tea together in relative quietness. A tinge of unease seemed to hang over them, no doubt a result from the previous evening's awkwardness. The silence was torturous to Wendy, who feared that Hook might harbor misgivings of their rocky affair after her unfortunate display of naivety. At last she was able to speak up and break the veil between them.

"Are you feeling alright, James?" she inquired, taking note of the flushed visage Hook had presented all morning.

"Ah," he tossed his hand dismissively, "Smee's damn sunfish."

On any other given day, Wendy would have tittered at that. But this was not to be another ordinary day for anyone in Neverland. Nor for the Neverland itself.

Aimlessly Wendy stirred the lemon peel in her teacup with her finger, avoiding the Captain's gaze. "James, I have something important I must discuss with you."

Oh dear, no good ever came of a conversation beginning with those words, Hook thought to himself with a sinking sensation. Nonetheless, he set his spoon onto the table and gave Wendy his attention.

"What it is, my love?"

Wendy spoke after a fortifying breath. "I came here to Neverland, this second time round, with the full intention of returning home."

Hook's heart plummeted.

"But as we can plainly see," she continued, "My circumstances have somewhat changed, haven't they?"

The lump in Hook's throat was cautiously swallowed down. "Yes…go on."

"And so I must stay here forever."

He saw no real hint of courtesy in her tone. "And this is terribly disagreeable to you."

"Oh no!" Wendy's eyes at last shot up from her tea. "That is not it at all! No, I've quite come to peace with my destiny…"

"You needn't lie to pacify me, Wendy," Hook seethed, now the one to evade her eyes. "I should have known better. This is no life for you nor our child. I'd understand if you wanted to leave."

"But I do not; that's what I am trying to explain!" She caught hold of his guarded glance and offered him a smile. "'Tis all right, James. I will happily remain with you."

But the stiffness in Hook's brow lingered. "What, then, dost thou need to discuss?"

"Well, as I said, I returned to Neverland with no intention of staying. But now I must. However, I brought with me no provisions."

"'Provisions?'" Hook sniffed. "Wendy, you are perfectly provided for here, are you not?"

"Yes, I am…" Wendy nodded. "To an extent. However, there's scarcely anything here which can provide for a baby."

Hook's sharp eyes immediately began to dance about the room, as if keen to find something which might prove her wrong.

Alas, she was quite right.

"But there are many necessities in my home which could be ever so helpful for when our little one arrives," Wendy pressed on, hoping Hook would be encouraged by her jovial manner. "Why, my mother still keeps Michael's old bassinette in my bedroom."

All of a sudden, a thousand and one frantic visions raced through Hook's mind, of his beloved ship being transformed into a makeshift nursery, with cribs, toys, and diapers strewn all about, and Smee trying desperately to calm a squealing baby with a warm bottle. This image nearly made him laugh, but the moment was short-lived once his mind's eye caught glimpse of his rumpled bosun handing off the hysterical child to HIM…!

"James?" abruptly came Wendy's voice. "Are you listening?"

"Yes. You wish to return to your home and collect some personal affects."

"Will you permit me?"

As with the provisions, Hook searched in vain for a reason to object.

"Well," he deliberated, "How shall you get there?"

"I should think I would be able to procure a fairy guide," replied Wendy.

Fairies?

"Doth any still inhabit the Neverland, do you suppose?" Hook mused.

"I've wondered myself. There is only one way to know for sure," said Wendy hopefully.

Hook looked over Wendy's endearing face, and in it he no longer saw a dreadful wreck of a playpen which was once his stateroom but instead a beautiful mother peacefully rocking her sweet babe to sleep with a kiss and a lullaby. How could he refuse anything to so pretty a picture?

A smile crept across the Captain's lips. "Then it shall be so. When the Redskins become preoccupied in their afternoon rituals, I will escort thee to the fairy's den."

But then Wendy's face took on that troubled air anew. "Well…you see, I feel this is a task I must carry out on my own."

Hook's expression met hers quickly. "Don't be silly. You shan't venture into those menacing jungles by yourself, my dear. Especially not so long as my child resides in thy belly!"

"I am perfectly capable, James," Wendy insisted. "Mr. Smee may row me to shore, and I can find my way comfortably to the fairy den."

"Wendy, I forbid you to go alone!" Hook bellowed in such a way as had not been heard for quite some time.

Seething, Wendy thumped the edge of the tabletop with her palms and shot to her feet.

"You have no authority to forbid me a thing!" she cried.

Hook rose as well, nearly tipping over his chair. "I absolutely do! You are my…"

And then he stopped.

Just what was she anyway? What claim could he make over her?

"I am the father of that baby!" he blurted. "And as such, 'tis my duty to see to its safety!"

Wendy's eyes filled wide with anger. "You dare to presume that I would do anything to put our child in Harm's path!"

"You do not know what it out there anymore, Wendy!"

"Trees, James!" she snapped. "That's all that is out there."

"We can't be sure…"

"James," Wendy stated his name as if branding it in lead, "If you do not trust me enough to do this, then there will be no reason for me to return to you at all."

Her words struck at Hook's chest and heaved him proper back into his chair.

"So…" he wheezed, clutching his solar plexus as if the wind had been taken out of him, "This is it then. The day I long dreaded, when thou wouldst rescind thy affections and at last abandon me once and for all. Oh, 'tis the Fate of Hook."

"I will not respond to such dramatics," said Wendy stoically, squelching the urge to take him in her arms at once. "If, after all this time, you truly believe that, then I'm afraid we have nothing left to say to each other."

If she had thought these words would stir the Captain to a more agreeable temper, she was mistaken. He only sunk further into his chair, and Wendy could no longer keep herself from going to him. She knelt to his right, and having nothing else to grasp, she enfolded her fingers around his claw.

"James, I know of no other way to convince you of my loyalty." Her tone was quieted.

"Nor I you," replied Hook, sitting up and closing his good hand over hers.

"Why do we continue to be so suspicious toward one another?"

"You must forgive an old pirate his world-weary tendencies," Hook half-smiled, sadly. "I remain ever convinced that even my own brutes shall one day mutiny."

"Well," Wendy rested her cheek on the back of his hand, "In case you haven't noticed, I am not one of your brutes."

The impish curl of her lips as they brushed his skin were too much for Hook to defend against, and he let out an amused chortle. "Yes, indeed, I doth perceive a minor distinction."

I needn't trouble you further with any fluff which proceeded then. Suffice it to say, Hook relented in allowing Wendy to venture into the dark Neverland forest on her own, under the stipulation that Smee would see her safe passage. The Captain also provided his mistress with a lantern and a dagger, should she meet up with any trouble. And on the stiff and rather uneasy dinghy ride from the ship to shore, Smee offered Wendy the small alert whistle he carried in his breast pocket, if the dagger proved insufficient protection.

"Thank you, Mr. Smee," Wendy said with all honesty.

"The Cap'n would 'ave insisted," came his dry response.

But, my, how drastically did the resentful bosun's tune change when he returned to the ship and gleefully told his Captain of the good deed he had done.

"Very well, Smee," Hook nodded. He had been scuffling about his cabin when Smee came in, as if looking for something but not sure what.

"Ye lose somethin', Cap'n?" Smee asked genuinely.

"My mind, I daresay," Hook muttered. "Listen, Smee, I apologize for denigrating your culinary capabilities this morning. If I offended thee, I am sorry."

"Not a worry, Cap'n." He saw Hook rub his right arm irritably. "Somethin' else the matter, Cap'n?"

Hook, ever prideful, waved the bosun's concerns away. "Oh, I imagine this bloody injury of mine is just starting to take its toll. Fetch me a brandy, would you?

"Yes, sir." He moved away to do so. "Ye know, Cap'n, if I may say, 'tis bloomin' strange that ye would let Miss Wendy go off into the forest all alone. I would 'ave thought ye'd like to go with her, if for no other reason than on the chance ye might finally catch that Peter Pan. Don't ye agree, Cap'n?"

But when Smee turned back round, brandy in hand, Hook was no longer listening, having twisted into an ugly ball and collapsed to the floor.

Wendy stepped into the foreboding thicket and at once felt as if she were being smothered in a dense blanket of grief. She sensed no danger; just an undiluted sadness.

The lantern did little to aid her way, for the darkness was impenetrable. She could scarcely see a metre in front of her face. From all sides, wilted branches of once glorious trees drooped from their trunks and pointed accusing fingerlike twigs at Wendy as she inched by. Only the sound of her heartbeat could be heard along with a low hum of despair coursing through the maze of trees like a mist with every step she took. No, she did not feel threatened, but the jungle clearly held a distinct and palpable contempt for this intruder.

It did not take long for Wendy to realize that she was foolish to make this trek alone. A veritable army of lamps and guides would even have thrown up their arms and turned back after only a few paces. Perhaps she ought to have swallowed her pride and allowed the Captain to escort her. Too late now – the dismal air engulfing her made it impossible to swallow. And had she wished to turn around and make for the shore again, she would have found the path she had just tread consumed and claimed once more by the unforgiving brush. And then, as a cruel exclamation point on the matter, a stiff breeze found its way through the murky stillness and blew out Wendy's lantern.

She was hopelessly lost. The jungle had ensnared her like a carnivorous bromeliad and taken its feeble revenge. She wanted to cry out. But for what? To whom?

And just then, before she could be digested in the belly of dejection, like the song of an angel came a voice she'd grown to revere so, calling her name in the distance.

"Wendy?" the Captain's speech echoed faintly, almost disembodied.

"James…!" Wendy's shout was as pathetic and stifled as the atmosphere surrounding her.

"Wendy? Is that you?"

She could not pin down from what direction he was calling. "Yes, James, it's me!"

"Where are you? I can't see you…"

"I'm here!" She clutched onto the branches and shrubs entrapping her and began to shake them violently. "Can you find me?"

"Yes…Yes, keep doing that." He was closer now. "Yes, I can see you. I'm coming…"

Thus Wendy went still and waited. Her eyes tried desperately to adjust to the darkness, to see some inkling of Hook's lantern approaching. But she could see nothing. She could not even discern a rustle of leaves underfoot. 'Twas most frightful.

At last, mercifully, Wendy felt a gentle hand rest upon her shoulder. She sighed in relief and grasped it.

"Oh, James, thank Heavens…"

Then a most queer thing happened – a second hand came down on her other shoulder!

Wendy gasped and spun around. Miraculously, she could just make out the faint glow of a young boy's face staring straight into her own.

Surely, the forest was playing more spiteful tricks on her.

"Peter…!" she stammered in almost a whisper...just in case.

"Yes, 'tis I," came the melancholy response of a child. So it was true.

In a rather pitiable turn of events, Wendy had gone so long without seeing Peter or even thinking of him with anything other than the most hostile of regards that she immediately went into a defensive upon hearing his own voice.

"What do you think you're doing?" Wendy snapped, shaking his hands from her person.

"I knew you'd come back…eventually," Peter replied with the vainest of hope in his tone.

"I haven't come back," said Wendy. "I was merely looking for the fairy's den."

"You won't find it anymore." Peter's voice was low and grave.

"What? Why not?" And Wendy was growing ever more agitated at this mere boy's presence.

"There are all gone."

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Even in the blinding dark, she could see Peter's head hang down against his chest.

"Peter?"

"Tink is sick too," he nearly mumbled, attempting to hold his tattered pride in place.

"Tinkerbell? What….?" Wendy fought against the urge of sympathy. "Peter, what is going on? What has happened here?"

"Will you come with me?" Peter met her eyes again. "Please?"

"Come with you?" Wendy retreated a step. "Are you mad? After everything you said and done?"

"I know," Peter replied quickly, advancing to the spot she had just left vacant. "I…I'm sorry."

Were Wendy's ears still deceiving her?

"You're what?"

"I said I'm sorry," Peter repeated as if hating to do so.

Why, the little scoundrel. He might have been a careless child, but he knew precisely the words Wendy would need to hear to entreat her to follow him – words he had never dared to speak to another soul, save for Tinker Bell after she drank his poisoned medicine.

And besides, Wendy was decidedly curious to learn what had become of the Neverland since she last clapped eyes on the Boy.

"Alright, Peter Pan, I will come with you. But be warned – " She put a hand to her skirt pocket. "I have a dagger."

"You won't need it," was Peter's unmoved retort as he brushed ahead past her. "This way…"

Leading her limply by the wrist, he wove a skillful path through the winding labyrinth of the Neverland jungle with nary a need for illumination. The thicket seemed to open up and make way for him as if a last favor to its once-revered keeper.

Before long they came upon the base of his tree home. Peter helped Wendy into the basket lift at the bottom, and she was surprised to see him join her therein. He snatched the vine pulley from her hand and began to tug on it.

"But Peter," she enquired, "Why don't you just fly?"

His face was cold.

"I can't."

They were silent for the remainder of the journey.

A chill clung to the air inside Peter's tree home, despite the dimly lit candles dotted round the perimeter. This could not be mistaken for a happy place, and one would be hard-pressed to consider that it once very much had been.

Not escaping Wendy's attention was the emptiness. Not even her own or Peter's presence seemed enough to fulfill the void. She took note of the bucket once used to catch sunrays now lying dusty and unused in a corner. Overturned chairs, unmade beds, tools and toys scattered erratically created a deafening symphony of ennui so unbearable Wendy would have preferred staying in the jungle to this.

"Where have the boys gone?" Wendy finally asked, unsure if Peter was aware of little Ram Eye's defection.

"Don't know," Peter shrugged. His back was to her as he lit another larger candle. "They all went into the woods one day and did not come back."

The fresh glow illuminated Peter's face when he showed it to Wendy again, and she quickly put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh, Peter! What happened to you?"

The sight of a black-and-blue welt underneath Peter's eye rekindled the maternal warmth Wendy had, whether she tried to deny it or not, always held for the Boy.

Peter fingered the bruise as if having forgotten about it. His recollection soon restored, he wilted with shame.

"I was struck."

"By whom?" Wendy wanted to go to him but dared not.

"A little boy, fallen from his pram. I came to take him away, but he cried out and struck me. He looked upon me as if I was some sort of demon!"

Not wholly inaccurate, Wendy thought, but she held her tongue knowing how little Peter could comprehend his own shortcomings. Indeed, he looked positively mystified as he recounted the incident.

Strolling toward a small basket in the corner of the room, he spoke morosely: "The children have abandoned me."

Wendy's heart halted. "Why do you say that?"

"I look in on their nurseries now, to watch them play. But they wish not to play at 'Peter Pan' anymore. They say it is too boring. They'd rather play at 'Pirates'." Peter's expression took on the dimness of the room. "The strongest child crooks his finger like a hook and they all prance around him and cheer, even when he strikes them atop their heads and shouts at them. They make the baby play Peter Pan. Or, sometimes, their house cat."

Despite Wendy's own complicated feelings toward Peter, she found this startling to hear.

"And worse yet," he added, "Because those little lost boys refuse to let me guide them to Neverland, they remain dead and soon forgotten."

"Oh no!" Wendy almost shrieked. "The poor dears!"

"Thankfully though," Peter continued ironically, crouching beside the little basket and peering inside, "I don't have to see any of it anymore, as Tink can no longer take me to their windows."

"Is Tinker Bell in that little basket, Peter?"

He nodded weakly.

She took a step forward but paused. "May I see?"

"If you want," he shrugged.

Kneeling beside him, she was dismayed to see the unhappy little body lying at the bottom, like a crumpled corsage one presses into a memory book, her light so faint it could not be discerned without one looking straight inside.

"She's not been this way long," Peter said. "But I don't know how much she has left. So, 'tis good that I should happen to find you when I did."

Wendy sat back her heels. She'd seen her fill. "Peter, do you think there is something I could do to help her?"

"I know there is," Peter said sharply. "You are the only one who can help her."

Clearly he was just being dramatic. "What could I possibly do?" Wendy raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"All of it is you, Wendy," was Peter's cryptic response.

"What?"

"All of this," Peter outstretched his arms. "The Sun's hibernation, the fairies disappearing, the boys running away….even this – " He pointed at his shiner. "'Tis all your doing."

Though his tone was not very accusatory, Wendy felt quite affronted. She stood abruptly.

"You stop this nonsense, Peter Pan! I have done nothing to no one!"

Peter was about to respond when he suddenly shot his head toward the basket where Tinker Bell lay. He cocked his ear toward it a moment, then nodded and sighed.

"What was that?" Wendy demanded. "Did she say something?"

"She might be fading, but she still has plenty to say." Peter allowed a small grin as he said this, and he dipped his hand into the basket and took his ill companion into his palm.

He stood and brought her to his cot. "She said that you have done much, but you've done it all wrong."

Settling Tinker Bell into the comforting folds of the fur blanket on his bed, she coiled her little body around his finger in gratitude, and Peter smiled weakly.

"Peter, please stop speaking in riddles and vague assertions," pleaded Wendy. "Just tell me what is happening and what it all has to do with me. Quickly now, or I shall leave!"

Never one to adhere to someone else's orders, even at his lowest, Peter made no great haste in delivering what Wendy had demanded. He finished seeing to his fairy, rose slowly to his feet, and wandered toward the deerskin opening of his hideout.

"When I was living in Kensington Gardens, before I came to Neverland," he began distantly, "A little girl named Maimie got lost in the park one day, and the fairies found her well after closing time. They would have done some nasty things to her too if she hadn't gone and found a perfect match for the gloomy Duke of Christmas Daisies. After this, she was invited back at any time she wished. She was a strange girl, but I suppose that is what I liked about her. She did not seem fit for the dullness that lay beyond the front gates. We had that in common."

Grinning reflectively, Peter took a seat by the door. Wendy, standing across the room, sat as well.

"She would visit me quite often and bring me gifts. We had a smashing good time! I wanted her to stay with me always. So, one day, while strolling through the flowerbeds, I told her we should be married at once."

Wendy's eyebrows shot to her hairline at this. She would not admit it, but I can tell you that she was just the slightest bit envious.

He continued: "She said that she wasn't altogether sure – we were both very young and really had no idea what exactly 'marriage' was…Only that it seemed to work out nicely for the Duke of Christmas Daises! If you love someone, you should marry that person, shouldn't you?"

Now his eyes met Wendy's, and he could not have missed the way in which his speaking of Love made her lips tighten.

Her lids squeezed shut in kind at his next declaration:

"And I believe I really did love Maimie."

Wendy wanted to leave and hear no more. How many times and by how many means could Peter reject her?

But as was her own deficiency, she did not move from her spot on the floor. She would be glad for it in just a moment.

"Alas," Peter sighed, instantly easing some of Wendy's distress, "She did not return. I never saw her again. Just as my mother had, Maimie barred me out. That was when I decided to leave."

"You came to Neverland to escape your broken heart," said Wendy quietly.

Peter shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the sentimentality. "I met Tink, and she showed me the way here. Neverland did not greet me a very desirable place to run away to at first. It was much like it is now…" He pulled back the deerskin flap at his left and squinted into the blackness.

A brief quiet overtook them before Peter spoke again. "But I suppose Hook told you about that already."

"Yes," said Wendy cagily. "He told me everything."

Peter nodded and said no more.

"Won't you deny it?" Wendy asked with curt.

Letting the flap fall back into place, Peter only said, "It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter!" she blurted hotly. "You ruined a man's life, Peter! Do you even realize it?"

"Let me finish!" Peter clubbed the floor with his fists. So, the same proud, impetuous Pan had not strayed very far after all.

Wendy folded her arms violently. "Well, get on with it then!"

But the Boy had been provoked, and his tantrum needed to be ebbed before he could go on. In great annoyance, Peter shot up and stood in place, shifting his weight from foot to foot restlessly, a riot about to thunder. Then suddenly he marched in long, determined strides to Wendy's other side and sat with a thump, so that now both she and Tinker Bell were in his sightline.

He remained there for a drawn moment, breathing heavily out his nose as he regathered his calm. Wendy stayed mum and waited.

And with one final snort and a blink, the tempest had dissipated.

"After I was here a while," Peter resumed after a beat, "I flew back to England to find Maimie. My idea was to find her asleep in her bed and carry her off with me to Neverland where she could be with me forever. But I didn't know where she lived, so I enquired to the finches in Kensington Gardens who had seen Maimie to her mother's arms when she was a baby."

Hogwash, thought Wendy, the evermore-wise woman she now was. Of course, she was having a devil of a time believing any of this at all – that careless, forgetful Peter could recall so much and in such detail.

"They took me to her window, and there she lay just as I had imagined. Well, perhaps a bit bigger than last time I had seen her, but not too much. She was still smaller than I." Peter grinned with pride.

"I could not go in right away, for Maimie's mother was tucking her in and telling her a story of a baby swan whose own mother and siblings had abandoned him because he did not look like them. Do you know the one, Wendy?"

She nodded. "'The Ugly Duckling.'"

"Yes, that's it!" At last, Peter showed off his little pearls. "When her mother had gone, I saw my chance, and I crept in and stole her away. She remembered me and said she was so glad to see me. She did not tell me why she never came back for me in Kensington Gardens, and I never asked. It didn't matter. All was forgotten once we arrived in Neverland. Oh, we had such glorious adventures. We made merry with the Indians, danced with the fairies, and defeated the pirates!"

It sounded grand indeed. And somewhat familiar.

"I can't remember how long she stayed." Peter gave a rueful sigh. "It did not seem very long before she insisted on going home. I thought Neverland was her home. No, Neverland is 'impractical', she said. Hmph. But she promised to come away with me again, but only in the wintertime. I agreed, but…"

He shifted uncomfortably. "…I did not know when wintertime was. That is, I could not have known when winter would be about in London. And I only first realized this when it was already far too late."

"Too late for what?" Wendy gently urged him when he took a pause.

"When I came back for her, it only seemed a few weeks. I flew to her window, but what I found inside was not the little girl whom I'd once asked to marry me. She had gone and grown up. All the way this time. And another little girl was in her bed. 'Twas her daughter, Mary."

Wendy felt a profound sadness then. Mary, of course, was her own poor mother's name.

"So, I took Mary to Neverland with me instead!" Peter proclaimed with a forced defiance. "And we had just as ripping a time as with Maimie!"

Wendy was not quite so convinced he had, or if he had only put on this mask in order to relieve the sadness from little Maimie's betrayal. He had an expertise of believing his own pretenses. And she could see his veneer begin to crumble as he pressed on.

"I was entirely confident that, this time, I would not be abandoned. Mary would surely stay with me. She adored taking care of me and the Lost Boys, and we gave her everything we could manage. But it was not good enough."

He was fighting hard not to cry, and losing. And Wendy was beginning to wonder if he was not genuine after all.

"She left you too," Wendy stepped in. Peter was thankful she had, to save him from having to speak the vile words himself, and he nodded brokenly.

"She missed her mother," his voice trembled. "I couldn't fault her for it."

Wendy was quite unable to reconcile what she was witnessing there in the shadows of that barren treehouse – the sight of a Pan filled with remorse and professed grief. Still she could not shake the notion that she was being made a party to a grand hoax.

"But…" Peter wiped his eyes hurriedly; maybe Wendy wouldn't notice. "As with Maimie, Mary consented to visit occasionally, if I should call on her. I ought to have learned my lesson the first time, to not wait so long again."

It astounded Wendy how he repeatedly bore responsibility for these misfortunes. The Peter Pan she had known would rather fall onto his own dagger than suffer such a thing.

"Did she grow up as well, Peter?" Wendy asked, becoming more swept up by his woeful tale.

"Indeed, she grew into a fine lady," Peter affirmed with some lament. "I would visit her window often just to gaze at her loveliness. Until the day she brought home a daughter of her own. Then I was happy again. I would soon have another to bring to Neverland with me."

"And did you bring her, Peter?" Wendy was so hopeful for him.

"Oh, yes." At last, Peter seemed to beam. "She was the most delightful of them all. I sometimes wonder now if I had not met Maimie simply so I could someday meet her granddaughter."

Wendy pursed her lips, happy with his being so pleased with this girl but not quite noble enough to evade Envy's green eye.

"As expected, she did not stay with me either," said Peter, bowing his head. "But she did give me a gift to remember her by…"

With these words, Peter lifted his palm and opened it, and resting steadfast and shiny in its center was a little silver thimble.

Wendy's eyes grew to the size of saucers.

"Peter…is it…?"

"Your Kiss," he confirmed.

"Then…I am…and Mary is…"

So, she'd had just cause to feel so troubled at the sound of the name 'Mary'. Quickly she began to put all the pieces together in her mind, and she found they fit seamlessly. Her grandmother had been born Jemima Mannering, and yes, on occasion, others would refer to her as 'Maimie'! She recalled it all now. The house in which she grew up, Number 14 in Bloomsbury, had been in the family since the Industrial Revolution. Peter could very well have been visiting the same nursery window for generations!

"Oh my gracious," Wendy swooned. "Mother never said anything…"

"She does not remember." Peter fiddled with the thimble aimlessly. "They never remember once they grow up."

Then his eyes grew stern and severe as they fastened onto hers. "'Tis all good and well if they should forget in the comfort of their own beds. But to come here to the Neverland and forget…"

He had her interest fully once more. Now, at last, he was arriving at his intention.

"I am able to be Peter Pan and to carry on my purpose so long as I still remain nestled lovingly in the hearts of those whom I have touched in your world," Peter said in a low, almost sage-like voice. "I entrusted them with it long ago. They bear my spirit within them and let it not ever change, so that I may be able to rescue lost boys and always return to the nursery windows of those children who still dream of me."

Once more feeling she must be on the defense, Wendy reflexively leaned away from him. "What do you mean, Peter?"

"You changed the story!" He suddenly cried out, bursting to his knees. Wendy nearly fell backwards. "Haven't you figured it yet? You came here and cursed me! You ran off with Hook, let him turn you against me, and now Neverland is being taken back by him!"

"It was never yours in the first place!" Wendy countered.

"It was ALL of ours!" Peter was on his feet now, his face crimson. "I took Neverland from his greedy clutches so that I could give it back to EVERYONE! But you RUINED it! You brought here all your silly grown-up inclinations, and you've made everything…too REAL!"

She had nothing left to say. His passion overpowered her, and she could not argue. And her silence allowed a respite for which Peter could detangle this second outburst.

"The children need me, Wendy," Peter said in a soft but quaking voice. "Would you really rather they dream of a Neverland shrouded in blackness and misery? Would you rather have them find an idol in that dastardly pirate than in me?"

"Peter…" Wendy managed unsteadily, "Please, but I can't understand how I am responsible for all which you claim."

He dropped to one knee directly before her, striving to control his impatience.

"You are the Storyteller! Just as your mother and grandmother were before you. But my fate is sealed through them because they have forgotten. But I brought you here – foolishly I know – on the cusp of your own waning memory. That perilous chapter between still knowing my name and face but ever capable of blighting it if the opportunity presented itself."

In a corner behind Wendy, Tinker Bell gave a weak though contemptuous cough.

"I know, I know, Tink…you did warn me," Peter scowled. "But I wished for you to return with me so terribly that I was willing to take the risk. Who is Pan, after all, if not the Boy who sneers in the face of Risk?"

This fresh degree of self-awareness was quite compelling to Wendy – almost to the peak of unbelievablity. He stayed quiet and sat again upon the floor, allowing Wendy her struggle, as ever, with conflicting emotions.

"How can I possibly be to blame for all this?" she thought aloud. "I am only one girl."

Her forehead dropped into her hand. Peter obliged her these few moments of reflection before he felt compelled to speak:

"Wendy…"

She lifted her face, her eyes so moist she almost did not see that his were as well.

"My legs hurt," he said cryptically. "I……I think I'm growing."

For the first time in her life, Wendy understood the tragedy in this concept, and she nearly lost herself to weeping.

Feeling no certain amount of victory in his persuasion of Wendy, Peter stood to his feet, taking one of her hands in his to join him as he wandered toward the entrance of his home. He pulled back the deerskin door and bade her stare out into the dark void with him.

"Look at it, Wendy," he drawled into her ear, as he had years ago when she stood, unsure, upon her nursery windowsill. "Is this what you want? Do you truly wish for THIS to be the Neverland your own children will experience one day?"

She touched her belly. Did he know?

"It is all in your hands now," Peter said. "It always was. Even back when Tinker Bell was dying of Hook's poison, 'twas you who heard my call for her life and spread the message for all to hear and save her. 'Twas your thimble which brought me back to life so that the pirates could be defeated once more, as it should be. And still only you can bring Neverland back to whence it belongs. I can do no more."

And no more could Wendy bear to gaze into the maddening obscurity of the jungle outside. She turned abruptly and brushed past Peter. It was a moment before she found her voice again, to ask a question most crucial:

"Peter…" she swallowed hard, "Does Ja – I mean, does Captain Hook know all this? Does he know that I hold this mysterious key to Neverland's fate?"

In the shadows of the room, Wendy did not notice Peter's eyes dart quickly over her shoulder, toward the reposed Tinker Bell, who caught his eye and nodded her little head.

"Yes," replied Peter resolutely.

Wendy's shoulders heaved a great sigh. Could it be true, that the Captain had only been using her this whole time to reclaim the island as his own? Could he be so callous? We cannot blame her for refusing to believe such a thing.

"But, he said…" The tears would not be denied any longer. "He told me that he loved me…"

Peter clenched his fists at this but remained collected. "He is the Master of Lies, Wendy. He would not be the infamous Captain Hook otherwise."

Oh, she should have known. What a blithering fool! Wendy found the nearest wall and flailed herself against it, sobbing openly, shedding tears for the cruelty of the human spirit and, most of all, for her spoilt innocence.

Peter so despised when Wendy would cry, and he made a dash toward his cot, seating himself next to Tinker Bell and facing the wall, his hands clamped over his ears.

He succeeded in sparing himself the sound of Wendy's sobs, thus he did not notice when they slowly began to ebb. However, his protected ears caught her voice when she spoke:

"What am I to do?" she asked quietly, defeated.

Peter removed his hands and turned halfway. "Hook has positioned himself to be an honorable figure. You no longer fear him but instead look at him through compassionate eyes, and thus so do the children."

Tinker Bell managed a few squeaks and jingles, which Peter translated for Wendy.

"She says he must be made evil again."

"But," Wendy sniffled, "If he is no longer evil, why does he deceive me?"

More delicate peeps from the fairy.

"Evil does not completely die," Peter interpreted. "It has long been in his blood to gain that which he wants through whatever dishonest means, even at the expense of those he claims to care for."

Wendy paid greater heed to Tinker Bell's words, for she knew fairies to be the wisest of all Neverland's creatures. It nonetheless made her terribly depressed.

"You must reawaken the devil in him," proclaimed Tinker Bell through Peter.

"How?" Wendy hated herself for asking.

"His poison," the fairy said. "The one which nearly ended me. 'Tis distilled from his very own wretchedness. If he drinks it, he will not die. It would rouse the sleeping monster in his soul."

Wendy was well aware of Hook's macabre little hobby, and she had long insisted, to no avail, that he toss his cabinet of potions and tonics overboard. But he would not hear of it, claiming they brought him a certain comfort.

"Which one is it?"

"It can hardly be mistaken. The poison itself glows an angry red, and he keeps it in a vile with a nasty little skull as its dispenser."

She knew the one. She detested it most.

"Give him the poison any way you can," Peter spoke for himself, coming off of the cot. "It should work quickly, so be on your guard. Keep that dagger of yours close at hand."

He retrieved Wendy's lantern and brought it to a candle to spark its flame.

"Once you have succeeded, find a safe spot to hide and wait for me." He held out the lantern for her, but she did not yet take it.

"How will you know?"

"I'll know," said Peter. "When the deed is done, I will find you and show you the way home."

Wendy let one free hand rest upon her belly.

"Oh, but what about – " She broke herself off, prudently. And without wasting a beat, Tinker Bell spoke up.

"She says not to worry," Peter informed her. "After Neverland is restored, she and the other fairies will take care of it." His brow creased. "Take care of what?"

"Nevermind," both Wendy and Tinker Bell jointly replied.

Hence Wendy took the lantern from Peter and went to the door. But before she could leave, she felt Peter's hand on her shoulder. His eyes were so sad, and she wondered if they had not always been so.

"I don't ask this only for myself," he said. "You know that, right?"

The little siren he still was, Wendy was as ever carried off by his charm. And though she may have harbored doubts, she told him Yes anyway.

The trek back to the pirate ship which Wendy had made into her home for an indeterminable length of time was not a hasty one. She dragged the entire world upon her back with every step of her feet and stroke of the oars on the dinghy. The image of sweet little faces falling to sleep at night and waking the next morning with blackened hearts after nightmarish voyages through a cynical Neverland sunk heavy into Wendy's mind. No indeed, she did not want their universe as dismal as this island. She did not want a world of dead babies, wandering alone and aimlessly in some empty unknown. And she certainly did not want, in spite of it all, to see Peter in pain. She would do what he asked of her.

'Twas all well and good to contemplate such things as she sat with herself in that tiny boat, still much a distance from the reckoning she had yet to confront. If she could get to the poison quickly and down Hook's throat, all would be settled and she would be back home in no time without a burden in the world. To leave all the mess behind – Peter, the Captain, their baby, and all those deprived children – to wash her hands of every bit of it as if it had never happened. Then she would not have to choose. She would not have to bear the responsibility of deciding who was right or wrong or how the planets were supposed to spin. She would see everything back to its normal machinations. And she could sweep it all from her mind just like dust on the kitchen floor.

On the Jolly Roger's deck, Wendy still took no hurried steps. Though he may be a despicable liar, she wished not to see Hook in pain either. She would take care to make herself scarce immediately upon his poisoning. She approached the cabin door in a forced haze – a put-upon apathy so that she could do what she had to and not feel a thing.

When she entered Hook's quarters, she found Smee in the stateroom, rummaging through the Captain's books and papers. He nearly jumped at the sight of the girl.

"Oh! Back already, Miss?" She could see his face was rather rosy.

"I…erm…ran into a bit of a snag," she murmured. "Where is James?"

"Well…I…uhh…he's…" Wendy supposed she had caught Smee in something dishonest.

But before she could pose a question, the bedchamber door swung open with flair, and Hook's head immediately filled the space. Like Smee, he was flushed.

"Wendy!" he exclaimed. And he said nothing further. He did not ask why she had returned so soon but only charged toward her rapidly.

Was he onto her scheme? Of course, she was foolish to think he would not know, and now he would destroy her before she had chance to do so to him.

She braced herself and stood bold as he came at her and then abruptly took her face in his hands.

Her mouth and eyes gaped open.

His HANDS!

Staring into his anxious eyes, she managed to finger her way up to his right elbow, then further down his forearm, and moreso toward her own face, and…

Yes! It was there! A hand grasping her cheek!

Wendy snatched the wondrous appendage away and held it before her, studying it like a cat with a ball of yarn. It was as real as her own – all five fingers accounted for. She compared it to his left – yes, they were both the same. She caressed the palm and bent his digits back and forth, to which he winced slightly.

"Careful, darling, 'tis brand new."

"But….James….How?" were the only words she could find.

"I don't rightly know," said Hook, his own fascination with the new limb quite evident. "I'd fallen to the floor, having had a nasty spell, and when I awoke upon my bed…"

Neither he had the adequate terms to express it.

'Tis quite like 'e says, Miss," Smee chimed in. "'E tumbled to a heap, holding 'is bad arm, so I takes him to his bed and removed 'is 'arness….And when next I come in to see to 'im, bilge me anchor if he wasn't CLAPPIN'!"

"And until you crooked my knuckles just now," Hook continued to Wendy, "I had no doubt that I was only dreaming!"

"A bloomin' miracle!" Smee cheered.

No other action came to Wendy's mind than to embrace Hook fiercely. And when she did, she felt his arms could round her as if for the first time.

"Oh, my Wendy," the Captain wept into her hair. "To hold you like this…I wished for it so passionately."

"I wished it too," Wendy replied. "This is all I ever wished for you."

"But…" began Hook, pulling away just enough to look at his beloved. "'Tis not even the most wonderful news…"

"Oh, James…..whatever more could there be?"

"The only other thing I wanted back more than my hand…"

She blinked and waited.

"Wendy…I know who I am."

Her hands flew to his face. "Darling! You mean…your name? You remember?"

"Every interminable second, my love!" He gave a lusty laugh which was laced with tears. "It's all there, fresh as a spring rain!"

"Well?" Wendy pressed. "What is it? What is your true name?"

"Tut-tut," Hook waved a finger on his new hand. "All in due time. First, I think we ought to have a drink and toast this momentous occasion, yes?"

Suddenly, Wendy's face fell.

A 'drink'.

Ah, yes, now she was reminded. She had returned to the ship to carry out a very specific task, hadn't she?

"Wendy?" Hook intercepted her thoughts. "Dost thou agree to a merry toast?"

Almost mechanically, she nodded.

"Excellent! Smee, fetch my special port wine!"

"James," she spoke quickly. "Where is Geoffrey?"

"I believe 'e's down in the galley, Miss, along with the port" Smee answered.

"Don't you think he ought to join us?" She could barely keep down the knot in her throat.

"Quite so, darling, very good! Smee, do fetch our dear Geoffrey after you've found the wine so that he may join us."

"Yes, Cap'n."

The bosun made his way out the cabin, and as soon as she heard the door latch, Wendy sprung to action.

"James, you've had such a tiring morning…Why don't you have a rest in the bedchamber, and I'll prepare you a warm brandy while we wait for Geoffrey?"

"Oh, to the contrary, my dear, I've never felt so alive!" He took in a great breath, his chest expanding proudly. "Why, I could dance a thousand minuets and still have enough left in me to swim the English Channel twice!"

"I don't doubt it." She very discreetly began to back him toward his bedchamber door. "But we don't yet know what all this about. It may only be temporary."

"My, I hadn't thought of that. You could be right!"

"Spending undue energy might be harmful."

"Quite so, quite so…."

"Let us give it a chance to sink in awhile before we go diving into the English Channel, shall we?"

"Thou art a sensible woman, Wendy!"

By this time, she had him standing at the foot of his bed.

"Now," she cooed, "You wait here a moment, and I shall bring you that brandy."

He took her hand in both of his and pressed his lips to it. "My dearest…I can only hope thou shalt still look upon me with such tender eyes after I have told thee my true name."

Wendy raised an eyebrow. "Were you…a terribly unpleasant man?"

Sighing, "I am not proud of a great many deeds I have done, Wendy, no. But if you can devote yourself to me as the man you thought you knew, then I daresay you could do the same for the man I was."

She kept a wary eye on him as she slowly retrieved her hand from his grasp.

"I'll just get that brandy now…"

She closed the bedchamber door behind her and sprinted to the other side of the cabin to lock the main door.

Think of the children, she repeated to herself as she rummaged through Hook's potion cabinet. Think of how more dangerous Hook could become armed with not only two hands but a recaptured identity. Why, he could be anybody – Blackbeard himself! She could not allow herself to be duped by this turn of events. It could very well be a trick…One which only the 'Master of Lies' could concoct.

Aha, there it was – the dreadful poison distilled from the red of his eye. She poured two drops of the liquid into a goblet and concealed it with a hearty ration of brandy.

She stood a long moment with that cup. Literally she held the fate of the world as she knew it in her palm. And she made one last wish – that somehow, some way, the Captain could change her mind.

The bedchamber door opened with a scornful creak, as if the very lumber of the ship knew her motives. She found Hook sitting at the edge of the bed, gaily making shadow puppets with his right hand in the light of a bedside candle. He smiled and laughed easily when she caught him. It was too infectious for her to not do so herself, but her own laugh was heavily lined in sorrow.

She knelt before him, discreetly kicking out the hip where her dagger rested in her pocket, and handed him the goblet with trembling hands. He took it but did not let his eyes leave hers.

"I do love you madly, Wendy," he stated with utmost resoluteness, stroking her cheek. "And as I sit here, recalling all the blunders and heartaches of my past, I grow ever confident that I would gladly make all the same mistakes and suffer just as many devastations a thousand times over if I knew that it would always bring me home to you."

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Wendy was at a loss for words. Her only reply was in her tears.

"I have been given so many chances to right my wrongs," he continued, his eyes welling too, "But never have I felt so profound a cause to become a better man, once and for all, than I do at this very moment."

Wendy stared deep into his brilliant blue eyes, and she could see nothing in them but Hope and Truth. All she had ever wanted in her young life was to matter to someone, to be held in such a special eminence that he would be fully prepared to change everything just for her.

Peter had never given her that privilege – had not even tried. Even as he sat alone in the darkness of his hideout, he expected HER to change instead of adapting to his new reality.

And quite bluntly, Wendy was so very weary of being held responsible for everyone else's problems. She was sick to death of feeling the guilt. How could she deny this man, to whom she had given every part of herself and who would gladly do the same for her if only she asked? Would not the guilt of sending him back to ruin be twice as unbearable?

All these thoughts raged through her mind as Hook brought the goblet up to his lips, his eyes continuing to tell her all she needed to know.

James Hook was no monster.

Peter Pan was the true 'Master of Lies'.

Wendy watched her own hand as it suddenly flew through the air and knocked the goblet to the floor, its soiled contents seeping into the carpet and oblivion.

And before Hook could react, Wendy had her arms tight about his neck, tears streaming.

"Oh James," she cried. "Come away with me!"

"'Away'?" Hook asked, confused. "Away whence, my love?"

"Home!" Wendy exclaimed. "Come back with me to London!"

Hook wrenched her grip from his person and stared at her face.

"Are you mad?"

"No, I have never been more clear. Let us leave this wretched place! Come with me to England where we can start all over, just you, me, and our baby."

"England…" The word tasted peculiar in Hook's mouth after all these years. And then, he recalled: "Wendy, did you succeed in finding the fairies?"

"Yes," she lied. "But they refused to help me on account of my allegiance to you. But they did say that there was a way out. If only we can find it, James!"

She could see the wheels in his head begin to spin. "I say…It has been so long…perhaps too long…Oh Wendy, I do not know if I can return…"

"It's will be all right!" she pleaded. "It will be perfectly all right, because we will be together! No matter what you've done, 'tis all far in the past, and you will make peace with it. We can surmount anything so long as we have each other, yes?"

The very idea of a homecoming to his native land, which had barred him out centuries before, was an enticing one to Hook's rebellious spirit. He had long wondered, even after his identity had been lost, how his legacy would have fared over the years.

"I wonder…" Hook stroked his beard with a cunning grin. But he soon shook himself out of his whimsy. "But can I get back, Wendy? Though I may have my hand and my name, is that enough to grant me leave of this island?"

"I don't know," she frowned. "But I don't care. We'll find a way. We have to. I cannot bear another minute in this place!"

"'Scuse me," suddenly came a voice from the bedchamber door.

Hook and Wendy (but especially Wendy) were surprised to see little Geoffrey standing in the doorway.

"How did you get in?" Wendy blurted.

"A funny thing," Geoffrey said, "but the dar was locked. Thank goodness Mr. Smee had a kee!"

Somehow, this exchange flew right over top of Hook's head. "Geoffrey, is there something we can do for you?"

"Oh, yes…fargive me…" He skulked sheepishly into the room. "But I couldn't halp overhearin' ye speaking about leevin'."

The off-guard couple shifted awkwardly.

"An' if ye really are seeryus, I think I kin halp ye."

They stood to their feet. "You could?"

Geoffrey reached into his pocket and fished out a small cloth pouch tied off with a vine.

"What is it?" asked Wendy.

"This be a wishin' stone, Miss Wendy," Geoffrey said. "The faeries give one to etch lost boy that Payter brings to Nehverlend…just in case we shood eever get the cravin' to go beck home. Payter don't know about 'em. Ye kin 'ave mine if ye want it."

Wendy went to him. "Oh, you dear boy…!"

She hugged him, then she took the pouch from his hand. "How does it work?"

"'Tis a cinch," he insisted. "Ye jus' hold it in yer 'and, shut yer eyes tight, like this, and wish reeeaaaally hard! An' win ye open yer eyes, ye will be beck 'ome agin."

"But will it work for me?" Hook enquired.

Geoffrey shrugged. "I reckon if ye held tight 'nuff to Miss Wendy while she was wishin', it would work far the both of ye."

Hook and Wendy both exchanged hope-filled smiles. Could it be true?

"So…are ye leavin' then?" Geoffrey asked cautiously.

"I'm afraid we must," Wendy said, standing upright. She offered Hook a questioning glance.

"Did you fancy accompanying us, Geoffrey?" asked Hook.

"Oh no, Cap'n," Geoffrey assured him. "I'd much prefar to stee here…if that's all right, of carse."

"Absolutely," Hook grinned broadly. He crossed to a rack near the door and retrieved one of his many plumed hats and plopped it down upon the boy's head. "As a matter of fact, I would be most honored, good sir, if thou wouldst watch over my ship in my absence."

Geoffrey peered out from under the large brim. "Oh! Aye-aye, Cap'n! Indeed!"

"Port's ready," then came Smee's announcement from the stateroom.

The trio trotted out of the bedchamber toward a waiting tray with three narrow glasses. Wendy and Geoffrey reached for their own, but Hook stopped them.

"Mr. Smee, I see only three glasses here," he said.

The bosun, never very adept with numbers, quickly began to look over the amount of glasses on the tray in comparison with the first three fingers on his hand.

"Of course we will need four," said Hook, "unless you do not care to join us."

Smee nearly lost his footing at this. He had never been invited to partake in the Captain's socials, and he had in truth never cared to.

Nonetheless, he extended his 'thank yous' and poured a tiny gulps-worth of the wine for himself.

With glasses raised, the Captain paid tribute to new beginnings.

"And to old friends," he added, tipping his glass to Smee. Once more, Smee did not know quite what to do.

"Thou hast served me well." Hook put his recovered hand on the bosun's shoulder. "In days when all others, including my own crew, would have gladly seen my head on a pike, I never doubted that you would always be steadfast in my favor."

Smee had experienced much in his long life, and if he had learned anything at all, it was that if a man makes such drastic ovations such as those Hook made now, it meant one of two things: He was going to die, or he was taking a permanent leave. Smee could only imagine the latter of the choices was the case with his captain, but he held far too much esteem for him to ask.

After the small celebration in the stateroom found its end, Smee escorted Geoffrey outside, neither one speaking to the other about what may come to pass when the door was shut behind them.

Hook poured another glass of port for himself, Wendy feeling already quite giddy from the first, as they lay together in the bed. Nestled close, the wishing stone clasp tight in Wendy's hand, they made one last toast. And when the liquid was drunk, they held each other then closer, eyes shut, and dreamed eagerly of welcoming a new life….


	23. LONDON, PART 1

This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film _Peter Pan_ (with some references to the original Barrie novel 1911 and his own Peter Pan prequel, _Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens_ 1904).

I'm still here!

I had received some comments after the previous chapter inquiring if it was the end of the story, and some people even commented that perhaps it should be. It is NOT the end (obviously), but I will give readers this option: You can continue to read and see what happens, or, if you prefer, you may take the previous chapter as the end of the story as far as your concerned. Either way is fine with me, though I do hope y'all will continue to take this (long, I know) journey with me. :-)

If this chapter seems kind of hastily put together, it's no accident. It ends rather abruptly because I figured I should get at least SOMETHING out there! So, the longer chapter has been divided into 2 shorter ones.

Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them…J.V. Hart, however, apparently owns Captain Hook now (grumble)….

Here's Chapter XXIII …..please review:-)

XXIII. LONDON, PART 1 

'Twas neither the welcoming breeze nor the warmth against her cheek which stirred Wendy to open her eyes. This task was left instead to a single runaway leaf, freshly fallen from the chestnut tree under which the young lady lay, that settled upon her forehead.

Only hence did her lids oblige to part, but just a little ways, for the glaring sunshine that met her gaze was one which she had grown quite accustomed without. She lay half-blinded for a long moment before she remembered her arms and beckoned them to shade her brow. But only one heeded the call, for the other was pinned beneath something large.

As Wendy squinted into the brightness, she became aware of her surroundings. She was outside – this was quite clear – perhaps in some sort of park. A rolling stream she could just discern in the shaded distance, and she knew then with utmost certainly her location. And quickly she came to realize that the object which held down her arm was no object at all; it was a man. It was Captain Hook.

They had made it – together!

"James! James!" She nudged the napping pirate, the precious wishing stone still clutched in her hand. "Wake up! We're here!"

He shifted then groaned, and when his blue eyes met with the Sun, he too cast an elbow across his face.

"Sweet Lucifer!" he exclaimed. "What is this?"

"'Tis the sun, James," Wendy beamed. "We've made it!"

She found her way to her feet and stood blissfully within the inviting daylight. She donned her old patchy nightdress once again, whilst Hook, managing his way upright and near to his mistress, wore not much more than black shirtsleeves, a gold-trimmed waistcoat, and black trousers (and his rapier of course, just in case). A rucksack which he had hid under his coat just prior to their journey now lay beneath the chestnut tree and forgotten for the time being.

The timid wind that tousled his inky curls was a familiar one. Even the scent of the grass beneath his feet could not be mistaken. He took two heavy steps forward, his head darting in every direction, and then let out a great laugh.

"Yes, we are home!"

"Then you know this place?" Wendy scurried up to him, holding his hand.

He engaged a deep breath. "How could I not know the Kensington Gardens? C'est tres raisonnable, ma cherie…for this is where it all began for Hook."

"Why, yes!" Wendy remembered. "This is where you saved the little fairy who would repay you with a magic potion."

"Funny…" Hook muttered distantly, bending down and caressing a bed of hyacinths at before him with his new right hand. "So curious indeed how the Fates can steer our footsteps as if we were not more than toothless schooners. 'Tis clearer than ever now…"

He stood again brusquely and began to pace the clandestine little spot in the park where they found themselves, taking in every leaf, flower, tree, and blade of grass.

"I had just come from speaking to my father by the Broad Walk. He was sending me away…I was so desperate for him to reconsider, but he could be swayed by none but his own predilections. I skulked off, miserable, and found a quiet place along the Serpentine in which to stew in my depression."

Speaking of the tranquil waters led him to amble in its direction, and Wendy followed keenly.

"I heard a disturbance in the flowerbeds to my left, and when I looked, I did but see a stray cat having at some poor, wee creature. Always one to champion an underdog, I rushed quickly to its aid. I shooed off the hissing beast, which dropped its bedraggled pray right into my palms."

"Our heroic James to the rescue just in the nick of time!" Wendy clucked.

"Not wholly unheroic, I suppose," Hook smirked. "A few cuts and scraps was all the hearty little fellow came away with. He expressed a knowledge of my person, which was alarming at the very least…"

Wendy's ears perked. "You say you could understand him? The fairy language I mean?"

"Scurvy beasts," snickered Hook. "They speak our language quite well, you know…When it suits them."

He continued: "When the little pixie granted me the rewards which he did, he did so with a strange foresight. As if he knew they would be of great use to me in the near future."

"The potion, you mean?"

"Aye."

"Then you did use it after all?"

"It saved my life." Hook's wandering halted. "Or rather, it returned it to me."

He stood silent then, from a thousand miles away staring at the glittering Serpentine and biting at his lower lip. Wendy came to his side and put her arms about him.

"James," she implored gently, "Who was your father?"

At this, he blinked and smiled upon her. "Now, now, darling, were I to tell you that, 'twould give away the entire secret."

"But why must it be a secret?" she pouted.

Hook returned her cuddle. "Worry not. When the rest know, you will know as well. And once all is revealed, it shall set the whole country ablaze…"

Wendy did not detect the ruthlessness in his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her passionately. If she had, she would have been wise to flee right then and there.

"All right, we'll 'ave none of that 'ere!" suddenly invaded a thick Cockney voice.

The embracing couple broke from their kiss to see what appeared to be a disheveled groundskeeper scuttling by, broom in hand.

"They 'ave special inns for that sort of thing, you know!"

Hook took a step from Wendy and put a hand to his menacing steel. "What say you, sir?"

Wendy touched his arm to stay his temper.

"Now now, mate," the man retreated, "We don't need to resort to such measures, eh?"

"That is entirely up to you, 'mate'," Hook challenged.

"Oh, no, no, not necessary," bumbled the man with a nervous laugh. "I'll just be on my way then. Leaves won't sweep themselves, eh, Jack? Erm, I mean, Sir!"

Hook's Cheshire smile grew wider. The groveling groundsman tipped his cap to Wendy.

"Begging your pardon, madam. Carry on! Good day to you both!"

And with a speed unexpected for one of his stature, the man disappeared into the flora.

Standing erect and satisfied, Hook was pleased to see that the journey from Neverland hadn't affected his clout. But Wendy, the more level-headed, put a cramp in his private gloat as she began to draw him back toward the chestnut tree.

"James," she began sternly, "I think it most prudent that we find some lodgings straight away, and from thence we shall decide how to explain ourselves to others for the time being."

"Ah, my Wonderful Wendy of Wisdom wending our way with words of wary…."

"Please be serious."

"I am constantly serious."

"We'll need to find some money."

"And find you shall…." Crouching before his rucksack, he retrieved a heavy cloth pouch inside, which jingled happily at his touch. Still grinning, he handed it her.

"Oh dear," Wendy's brow furrowed at the bag. "I'm afraid very few landlords would be prepared to accept Spanish doubloons or Venetian ducats as payment for a room."

Hook had figured as much. "Well then…perhaps we may exchange them for some of your modern currency."

"Oh yes, that's it!" Wendy exclaimed. "We shall take them to the bank!"

But then that nasty little crease in her forehead returned. "Oh, but it will have to be a bank outside the city."

"Why's this, my dear?"

She faltered. "Just for safety's sake."

"Ah, now who is being cagey?" Hook cocked an amused eyebrow.

Having recalled vaguely several secret shortcuts leading to a less populated road, the roving pirate captain led Wendy by the hand through the Kensington Gardens. They sought to make themselves inconspicuous, but there was little hope in that.

Sadly, Hook's memory still had but a few cobwebs to be dusted off, for his shrewd getaway scheme led them not to a quiet London back road but right onto the Broad Walk, teeming this day with its normal influx of afternoon strollers.

"Oh blast," Hook muttered, his stride halted.

"I say, you look rather lost," commented a jovial man's voice nearest to them.

Wishing not for a repeat of the run-in with the groundskeeper, Wendy immediately blocked Hook's rapier from his own grasp. But the gentleman whom addressed them had no hint of malevolence about his person that she could discern. He was a stout fellow, much like penguin in his neat suit, with spectacles and a lit cigar protruding from his mouth.

When he received no response from the peculiar couple, it occurred to him perhaps they knew no English.

"My, but that is a remarkable outfit," he said, surveying the waistcoat of the dark, cautious man before him. "Off to a masquerade are we?"

Feeling Hook's hand twitch for his steel, Wendy heard herself blurt out: "He's an actor."

The man's eyes twinkled eagerly. "Is that right?"

"Erm…..Yes, quite so," Hook acquiesced.

"But not from around here," the man stated as if quite sure of it.

"No," Hook stood his guard. "Just in from the north."

"Yes? Where north?"

"Quite north."

"Ah, of course," the man took a jolly drag off his cigar. "The enigmatic type. All of you thespians are quite the same. But I do hope you shall do me the courtesy of telling me your name, sir."

Hook, having long not been addressed by a grown man in such a casual manner, was instantly aroused to put this one in his place, and quite forgot himself. Or rather, he quite remembered himself, but once more, Wendy was to save the day.

"Very well," Hook sneered, straightening his waistcoat pretentiously. "I am James – "

"Scott!" Wendy nearly shrieked.

Hook went mum and his eyes bore a hole in Wendy's face.

Wendy's own eyes came away from the older gentleman in the kilt and tam o'shanter who had just meandered by.

"He is James Scott," she insisted, threading her arm through his, which felt rather limp of a sudden. "He is my…uncle."

"Well, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Scott," the man tipped his bowler cap to Hook, who now seemed, once more, thousands of miles away. "And who might you be, young miss?"

"I…I….am…" Wendy struggled, her eyes again darting about in search of a solution. "I am…his niece…."

She tugged at Hook's arm for help, but he was lost in a reverie. He'd heard the word "name", thus all he could think to say at the moment in reply was:

"Anne…"

"Anne!" Wendy exclaimed with much relief, quickly knocking Hook from his trance. "I am Anne, his niece!"

"Excellent," the man consented. "Are you a Scott as well?"

"No!" quickly came Hook's booming voice. "She is no Scott! She is….a Smythe!"

"Well then, what a merry little family," said the man. "Have you others in the city?"

"No, we are….quite all we have," Hook affirmed, getting a feel for the charade. "Her parents are long gone, so I am her charge. She is expecting."

"James!" Wendy pinched him. "Erm, I mean….Uncle James!"

Hook offered his first smile since encountering the little man, though a forced one. "My dear, you'll hardly be able to hide it from anyone soon enough."

Catching the man's dubious stare, Hook was fast to the task. "She is widowed."

"Oh, you don't say," the man frowned. "For such tragedies to befall one so young. 'Tis a shame. You are quite a saint, my good man, to take her under your care. I assume there is no Mrs. Scott to speak of?"

Hook's smile was gone. "No."

"Ah, yes, the life of a bachelor! I do envy you!" He gave a great laugh laced with a hoarseness from years spent with his cigars.

"And who exactly might you be, sir?" Hook was keen to steer the subject from himself.

The man gave one last cough. "Oh, dash it all, where have my manners gone? I am Arthur Gadsbury. But you may call me Gads if you like. Everyone seems to."

"If I shall call you at all…" Hook dismissed, growing bored.

"Well, perhaps you shall," insisted Mr. Gadsbury. "You are an actor you say?"

"Yes."

"Tell me, do you know Moliére?"

"Why, I was a personal acquaintance of his!"

Mr. Gadsbury gave another of his dreadful laughs. "Oh, indeed, indeed! I often feel just the same toward the lad!" He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small white rectangle. "Here is my calling card. I am an investor with the Royal Shakespeare Company."

Hook studied the card. He'd never seen such a thing; but he knew right away he had to have one for himself. "Shakespeare Company?"

"Perhaps you've not heard of us being from so far north as you say. We are fairly new. We've been searching high and low for someone to be our Tartuffe. You know the play I imagine?"

"I do."

"As I stand before you now, sir, having always been an excellent judge of character, I can see that you would make a most splendid Tartuffe."

A smirk crawled across Hook's lips. "I strike you as an 'imposter', do I?"

"You strike me as a man who can slip easily into any identity he wishes. And you have a most pleasant voice for the stage. I think you ought to pay a visit to our directors and introduce yourself. They will adore you, I'm sure of it."

Oh the dulcet sounds of Flattery. How long it had been since it last danced about the Captain's ears? And he did not even need to shake a fist or his sword to obtain it!

"We will consider your offer, Mr. Gadsbury," stepped in Wendy pragmatically. "But we really must be on our way now."

"I do like a woman with direction!" Gadsbury smiled. "Please, do ring me with your decision, Mr. Scott. I'll be most anxious to hear of it."

"'Ring' you?" Hook cocked a brow.

"At any hour! And if I am not about, my secretary will take a message." He tipped his hat once more. "Good day to you, Mr. Scott. Miss Smythe."

"Mrs. Smythe," Wendy corrected him.

"Pardon me, ma'am," Gadsbury chuckled. "Ciao!"

"Jolly fun," said Wendy facetiously once Gadsbury had gone, "What are we to do now, 'Uncle' dear?"

"I believe you were to show us to a bank, 'Anne'."

"Why do you say it like that then? 'Twas your suggestion! I think it's a very fine name."

Hook pursed his lips. "Well…perhaps you can bring to it some much-needed humour."

To understand what transpired next, one must take into account that an entire culture of people who had lived most their lives in an era named for the primmest queen the country could recall would reasonably find the collective appearance of Wendy Darling and her rogue pirate captain to be quite a spectacle. Hook was no novice to gaping stares in his direction, but even he found little fondness in it now. And Wendy was, of course, highly discomfited, clinging to Hook's shirtsleeves.

But Hook took it in his stride. "Hmph. As if they'd not seen a 300-year-old pirate before."

Which reminded him…

"That is correct, is it not, darling? In which century are we?"

"We've just entered the 20th."

"Indeed? My word…"

But the keenest delights of the Industrial Age were soon to come.

With great relief did Wendy and Hook at last manage their way out of the park. And Hook, expecting the moderate pace of London street traffic which he had been accustomed to, was nearly knocked back onto his heels upon a noisy steel beast blasting past him on the road.

"Brimstone and gall!" he shouted, his sword unsheathed. "What devilry is THIS?"

"Stay your sword, James, 'tis quite alright," Wendy explained. "They are only automobiles."

Hook stood staring, eyes and mouth agape. "Auto-WHAT?"

"The 'horseless carriage' as some liken to call them instead. A very efficient means of travel nowadays."

As the Captain continued to watch these shiny miracles of machinery whiz by here and there, the corners of his open mouth curled upward. "Oh, oh…I MUST have one!"

Wendy rolled her eyes, all too familiar with the male preoccupation with these clattering motorcars. "Perhaps later…After we have secured some finances."

Thus began the long walk to find a bank outside the bustling city. It was everything Wendy could do to keep her companion's eyes toward where his feet tread instead of greedily affixed to every auto which drove past. She even had to dissuade him from spontaneously trying to commandeer one poor old man's vehicle!

Having thankfully found the bank in one piece a stone's throw later, Hook plopped his satchel of doubloons in front of the first available clerk with an expectant smile.

The clerk peered up from his balance sheets and over his aquiline nose to the strange couple.

"Can I help you?"

"I require an exchange," said Hook. "I hold some foreign coin, and I would like an equal amount of British pounds in return."

The clerk untied the satchel and let the coinage spill out onto the counter before him.

"I say!" He adjusted his reading specs and held up a shiny gold piece. "These must be worth a fortune!"

If Hook did not know any better – and he did not – he thought he saw a flicker of avarice in the old clerk's eyes at his booty.

"They are," said Hook firmly, plucking the coin from the man's fingers and tossing it back onto the pile. "Now then, go and fetch me my share of local currency, if you please."

Suddenly the clerk snapped back to reality. "Oh dear….I'm sorry, sir, but we wouldn't possibly have that much money in our entire vault!"

Hook shifted menacingly, and Wendy stepped in once more.

"Well, that's alright. We'll just take whatever you have and be on our way…."

"Absolutely not!" Hook snapped. "I shall not be short-shrifted of my spoils!"

The clerk trembled visibly under the Captain's ire. "No, indeed not, sir…..Erm, well, we can obtain the extra money for you, but I'm afraid it would take at least…two weeks."

"Two weeks!" Hook and Wendy exclaimed in unison.

"These are very rare pieces…It would break us and every other bank in London to exchange them. We would need some time to sort through them, examine them, and come up with an accurate amount for compensation."

"What are we to do until then?" Wendy moaned.

"I have an idea," said the clerk eagerly. "I can give you a loan, just enough to get you by comfortably for the next month. And when you receive your exchange, you can pay back the bank at any time."

"Oh, how lovely of you!" said Wendy, poking Hook in the arm. "Is that not lovely of him, Uncle James?"

"Yes, simply divine," mumbled Hook. "If that is the best you can do…"

With their generous loan in hand, Hook and Wendy left the bank with their own individual misgivings.

"I don't trust them a bit," griped Hook of his separation from his loot, looking over the freshly minted pounds.

"I'm not any happier about it than you," said Wendy. "I was hoping we could leave London sooner…"

She then sighed, taking his arm. "Well…I do think it's time to get us some proper attire, don't you?"


End file.
